Chap. 321 The Dinner at Singing Waters

Chap. 321 The Dinner at Singing Waters

K’ndar felt extremely out of place.

Having grown up a subject of Lord Dorn’s Hold, he had always considered himself nothing more than a cotholder’s kid. The possibility of dining with the Lord Holder had never crossed his mind, never mind being treated as an equal. True, he’d been offered a position as Lord Dorn’s private dragon transport, but Landing had snatched him up.

Now he was sitting at Lord Dorn’s beautifully carved table, the remains of what had been a superb roast wherry before him. There were several cotholders and people wearing craft braids partaking of the feast. Conversations were flowing, although none involved him. Other than Random, only one of the cotholders looked familiar, but he couldn’t remember when he’d met the man. Something buried in his memory reminded him that meeting had not been pleasant.

An unsettling thought hit him. If this is a meeting of cotholders, he wondered, why isn’t my brother Mardriss here?

D’mitran sat across from him, a merry look in his eye.

D’mitran says you need to relax, Lord Dorn won’t eat you Raventh passed on the message from Careth, D’mitran’s’ brown dragon.

He caught D’mitran’s eye and rolled his own.D’mitran winked.

His head whirled at the sudden elevation in his status. Lord Dorn stood up at that moment and raised his hands to quiet the chatter.

“Sirs, mesdames, I’ve invited you here today to meet and commend K’ndar, rider of brown Raventh and currently (he accentuated the ‘currently) Landing’s Staff biologist. Kippiss, K’ndar!” Lord Dorn said, raising his wine goblet.

The guests raised their mugs or goblets with an obligatory “Kippiss”. Several looked at him with what he took to be puzzlement-‘why a dragonrider?’

“You all know D’mitran, by now, but I don’t know if you know who K’ndar is. He was Kandar, raised on my first steppe cothold, son of Hanliss and Daryat.”

K’ndar caught a scowl from the familiar cotholder. Why that look? Was it due to his father’s reputation as an abusive and cruel man? One who almost lost his cothold due to cheating Lord Dorn? But Lord Dorn has never punished me for my father’s transgressions. He’s always treated me as myself, fairly and with respect.

The cotholder stared at K’ndar. Where have I seen your face before, he wondered. Why are you looking at me as though I’ve pissed on your feet?

“I can see your father in you, boy,” the man sneered. “The nut hasn’t fallen far from the tree, eh?”

K’ndar bristled, realizing the man was taunting him. What the shaff? Had I known this was going to be a target session, I’d have found a way out. I was only supposed to brief Lord Dorn, not be the subject of examination.

He struggled for a quick witted quip. And came up with nothing. I’m not F’mart, he thought.

Lord Dorn, though, pounced.

“I can assure you, Crafter Torn, K’ndar is a grown man and nothing like his father,” he said, his voice icy. “And I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from your usual behavior, that of deriding my guests, in MY presence, no less! in order to make yourself look more important. You fool no one but yourself, Torn. You are highly skilled at one craft, that of making cider and vinegar. It’s the only reason I keep you on. In all other aspects, you’re profoundly stupid and certainly obnoxious. Need I remind you that you are allowed to live in my Hold solely at my discretion? Think of that before you take it upon yourself to taunt people.” He held the man’s eyes for several chilling moments. “Have I made myself clear?”

Torn dropped his eyes. K’ndar could see sullen resentment in them. “Yes, my Lord,” he said, softly.

The rest of the guests tittered. When Lord Dorn turned his attention from Torn, the man glared at K’ndar. K’ndar smirked.

That’s the best way of returning his insults, he thought. That, and I’ve changed. It no longer bothers me. People like him think that civility is a sign of weakness. I’d forgotten how many people do what he did.

I used to think Landing was bereft of courtesy, but I’m wrong. It’s just a different form. I’ve gotten used to the egalitarian society of Landing. No knuckling one’s forehead, no dreading to ask one’s superior a difficult question, or disputing a decision. For that matter, superiors are only that due to their position, not circumstances of birth. No one asks me what my status was before I hired on at Landing. I’m judged on what I can do: ride a dragon, do biological research, and that seems to be enough for Landing.

NOW I remember you, Torn, he thought. You make vinegar, and charged me and Francie a mark per cask when we were tasked to pick up two casks of tithed vinegar. Yes, that’s you, and then you expected us to transport you to this Hold for free! I remember! Weyrwoman Siena came and snared you in your own trap, you asshole.

Why in the world do people like you think they can just insult me for no reason? I would never dream of doing such shit. I wouldn’t have even retorted, not when I’m a guest. I didn’t need to. Thanks, Lord Dorn, for jumping to my defense.

D’mitran says this human is a ‘bully’ and to ignore him Raventh said.

Tell him thank you, I think I’ve figured that out. What an idiot.

“I’ve called you all here to have you share in my appreciation for K’ndar’s actions.You’ve been specifically invited because your cotholds and crafthalls were directly attacked or affected by the actions of several criminals.

Because of K’ndar’s actions, three of those criminals: Karloch, Scar, and Vika, have all been apprehended and are dead. A fourth, T’ovar, a rogue dragonrider raided and extorted people, Holds and Crafthalls from coast to coast. Most of his crimes were committed on my and Lord Toric’s Holds. He now resides in one of my cells,” Lord Dorn said.

This time the cheers were heartfelt and noisy. Everyone is looking at me and applauding, K’ndar thought, feeling sheepish. I don’t know how to respond.

Lord Dorn again called for quiet. “I hope that K’ndar can answer questions, if you have any,” he said.

“Not so much questions, my Lord, as I’d like to make a complaint. As you well know, that T’ovar terrorized my cothold for months. I’ve lost a lot to him-and my family and my people are still terrified. Is there a reason he’s still wearing his head?”a cotholder asked.

“My Lord, if you’re short an axeman, one of my drudges is a good one,” said another. “He’s a bit slow in the head, but he’s a steady worker and a master at chopping up a tree. I’m certain T’ovar’s neck won’t even make him break a sweat.”

Lord Dorn smiled. “Thank you sir, I am good in that regard. As to why T’ovar still wears his head, I can answer that, Malcom. As you know, I go by the Charter, now, and have spent the last several weeks waiting for the moment when T’ovar can stand before and be tried by the Council of Six. The time has given me ample time to collect testimony such as yours to present to the Council.

Ordinarily, because of the stricture of Holds not interfering with Weyr business, I’d have sent him on to his original weyr, but he refuses to say who he looks to or what weyr he flew with. He merely claims to be ‘his own man”. Trust me, were it not for the Charter, I’d have had him beheaded the day he was captured.”

But you do know, K’ndar thought, looking at Lord Dorn. D’mitran and I both told you, T’ovar was originally from High Reaches Weyr, and that he worked for Lord Toric. But I won’t say that, not to these people. You probably have your reasons to keep that knowledge to yourself. Yes. The stricture against Holders interfering with Weyr business is still very much in force. Yes. You’re wise to let the Council handle T’ovar.

“Were it left to me, my Lord,” Malcolm grumbled, “I’d have found a way of, um, shall we say, encouraging him to loosen his tongue.”

His comment was met by several murmurs of agreement.

“I understand the feeling, sir. I’ve had plenty of volunteers. For that matter, the women of my cotholds, as well as my wife and grandmother, had volunteered to do things more than mere encouragement. They wanted to, um, ‘talk’ to Vika, and were much disappointed when D’mitran dropped off her very dead body. I didn’t delve too deeply into what they meant by ‘talk’. It’d probably give me nightmares,” Lord Dorn said, only half joking.

“That, my lord, is an understatement,” said one woman, who wore a Master Weaver braid. “We didn’t know who they were-they didn’t call themselves Scar and Vika. They came to my weaver hall, claiming hunger and a need for shelter, and then tried to coerce some of the young girls to run off with them. “It’ll be fun,” they said, “we have our own cothold, we have horses and lots of nice looking boys, and no chores for anyone!” When the girls instead came to us with their talk, my menfolk went after those two with chains. My man kept shouting, I KNEW they were bad uns! They escaped, with four of our horses! Since then, we’ve been forced to teach the kids to hide when strangers rode in. That’s no way to raise kids, sir, I don’t want them growing up with fear in their eyes.”

“Yes, Mela. I do remember that,” Lord Dorn said.

“My Lord,” another man said, “We did the same, only with T’ovar. We taught everyone who wasn’t male and able to fight to hide whenever a dragon flew over. It was a shame, my apologies, Dragonriders, but my people were afraid of all dragonriders for a while. They’ll be overjoyed when I tell them T’ovar’s in my Lord’s cell. Now they’ll be able to relax.”

“I understand, sir,” D’mitran said, “I don’t blame you. I do hope you’ll tell them he was an anomaly, a true rogue. Dragonriders don’t do those sort of things.”

“No, we don’t,” K’ndar said, emphatically.

“My Lord, Vika and that scar faced villain she was with, snatched one of our young drudges as she was coming out of the privy! In the middle of the night, no less! We had NO idea where she’d gone, oh, I cannot tell you the heartbreak. Her mum aged a hundred turns overnight, I think. We searched and searched, we even hunted down and killed an innocent wher, thinking it had eaten her. I cannot tell you how happy we were when Dragonrider D’mitran brought her home. She’s still traumatized, sir, she was only thirteen at the time. She won’t leave her home cavern without her mum.”

“I remember that, Franz, and I hope she recovers. You can tell her Vika is cold and stiff, and K’ndar will probably be able to fill you in on the details of how she got that way.”

“I’ll be more than happy to tell her. You said that Scar is dead, too?”

“He’s being eaten by insects as we speak, isn’t that right, K’ndar?”

Caught unawares, K’ndar startled, then said, “Yes sir. I saw Vika shoot him dead. He’s food for the scavengers now.”

The group cheered. “This is why I wanted you all to meet K’ndar,” Lord Dorn said. “He was instrumental in most of the captures. He and D’mitran can answer your questions better than I. K’ndar discovered Karloch’s illegal cothold, the one that Random now manages. Karloch had kidnapped entire families, most of them Holdless, and stole livestock from all over Southern.”

“Aye, sir, that’s true,” Random said. “By the way,” he turned to the guests, “Karloch had me chained and beaten half to death when I refused to kill people who resisted him. K’ndar, there, called in Kahrain Weyr to rescue us. I owe you my life, K’ndar. Thank you.”

K’ndar felt embarassed. The guests cheered.

“You’re welcome, sir,” was all he could get out.

“What about the animals, Random?” one said.

“After I healed up a bit, Lord Dorn appointed me cotholder, my first task being sorting out the livestock. About half of them had had their brands obliterated or changed in some way. It took me a few months to figure out what animal belonged to who.”

“That Karloch, his yobs stole six of my best cows, Random. Thank you for arranging their return, and thank you from the bottom of my heart, my Lord, for reducing my tithe because of it. But, sir, this coming weaning, I will be able to provide my full tithe! Not long after your men returned them, I realized every one of my cows was pregnant! There must have been a bull in with Karloch’s herd, a bull who kept himself busy. And his calves, by the stars, they’re far better than those by my own good bull. You do still have him, sir? If so, I’d love to lease him,”said one man.

Dorn shook his head. “I wanted to keep that bull, Kern, but he was not mine. Whomever stole him knew his livestock, but whomever reworked the brand didn’t have a clue as to what he was doing. The bull was returned to his owner, Lord Toric.”

Kern shook his head, his hopes dashed. “That’s a big waste, there, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so. Lord Toric’s never been one for keeping his beasts on his side o’ the Black. I still find them crossing the river to join my beasts, I suspect it’s because I rotate my pastures so the graze is better,” he said.

I won’t say that I’m keeping the unbranded ones, Kern thought. I do have a fine bull calf by Toric’s bull. He’ll easily outdo his sire. Lord Dorn, you’ll always get my tithes in full and on time, it keeps you from asking me questions that don’t need answers. If Toric is so careless as to not mind his livestock straying, who am I to teach him?

“Maybe you can convince the bull will swim over, too?” someone said. Everyone laughed.

“Lord Toric isn’t one for keeping his PEOPLE on his side of the Black,” said a man. “They were coming over acting like it was all up and legal for them to start another cothold. And when we said you’re invading Lord Dorn’s Hold, they’d threaten us with T’ovar.”

“My Lord, my problem has been Lord Toric’s dogs-they’re monstrous great beasts, huge. The size of a pony! And fearless of humans, sir. They’re far worse than any wher. A wher has the decency to run off when my dogs challenge them. Toric’s dogs killed three of my best woolly ewes AFTER killing my guardian dogs. Now I have my herders out day and night, with the crossbows you lent me, thank you, sir. It takes a steady hand and two bolts just to knock them down long enough to cut their throats,” said the Weaver woman. “Fortunately, they’re too bold for their own good. They don’t run, they’ll stand and roar at us, giving us a steady target to shoot them. Thank you, my Lord, for sending Master at Arms Lief out to teach the kids how to shoot. They’ve killed three so far.”

“You’re welcome, Crafter Mela,” Lord Dorn said. I don’t like distributing crossbows and swords, he thought, but times are changing, and there’s not much else I can do. I wish I could have a wing of dragonriders whose sole purpose is to patrol my Hold.

“All this chit chat and I’ve still to learn how you caught them, K’ndar” said a man. Please, relate?”

“Um..I confess, I am not good at speaking and I wasn’t expecting this,” K’ndar said, clearing his throat. “And D’mitran was instrumental as I was.”

D’mitran shot him a glance that said, you shit, I didn’t want this either.

“No matter,” the man said, “I’m not interested in a Teaching Song. Tell.”

So he related the entire story, from discovering the cothold, to catching T’ovar to seeing Scar die and Vika get shot. There were many cries of “yessss!”.

“Well done, sirs!!”

“I would have loved to have seen that!!

“How many people were in chains? Those bastards!”

“All the women,” Random said, “except for Vika.”

“Tell us again about her opening the pack?”

“Oh, it must have been so funny when she opened the pack to find junk? heheheheheheheee!”

The flurry of voices was almost deafening.

One woman was silent, though. Finally she got a chance to speak.

“Begging your pardon, my Lord, you said earlier that T’ovar refuses to tell you what weyr he’s from. I beg of you, my Lord, keep him in your cell. Please. I wouldn’t trust him being released to his weyr or ANY spot on this planet. He does ride a dragon.”

“Aye, my Lord. I was never Searched, but I know how dragons are bonded with their riders. If T’ovar is in your cell, my Lord, where is his dragon?”

D’mitran, saddened, said, “Allow me, my Lord? T’ovar no longer rides a dragon. Firoth, his dragon, is dead.”

The guests were shocked to silence. Finally, one voice said, “What happened?”

“He went between and never came out. T’ovar had hurt him, badly, both physically and emotionally. He suicided.”

“They DO that sort of thing? All on their own?”

“Isn’t that what, um, what was her name, during the plague? Moreta? Didn’t her dragon suicide?”

“No, it was the other woman’s, don’t you remember the Songs? They switched queens when Moreta’s couldn’t fly anymore.”

“No, that’s not how the Song goes. Remember, it goes…”

Lord Dorn clinked his goblet to quiet them.

“We could go on like this all night, my people, but I brought us all together to thank K’ndar AND D’mitran for ridding us of several evil people. Then I must excuse myself, I do have Hold Matters. So, if you would all, stand, please? And three cheers for K’ndar, rider of brown Raventh, and D’mitran, rider of brown Careth.”

The people stood and cheered. K’ndar flushed, not sure of what to do with himself. Cheer? No. D’mitran grinned, feeling it too.

___________________________________________________________

“Before you leave, K’ndar, I personally want to thank you for everything you’ve accomplished,” Lord Dorn said, pulling him aside. “You’ve rid my Hold of three criminals and a fourth does laps in his cell. Now I can sleep better.”

The rest of the guests were around the great fire pit, enjoying the wine. Two of them were telling D’mitran how good his ale was.

K’ndar felt humbled. “It was my privilege, sir.”

“When the Council distributed the wanted poster, they failed to tell me, or anyone, what exactly what ‘reward’ means. Did they mean money? Land? Horses? I don’t know. The poster just said “Reward.”

“I know, sir. And before you start, I don’t need one,” K’ndar said, embarassed. “All of the situations were thrust on me, sir, but even had they not, I still would have done what I did.”

Lord Dorn smiled, liking the dragonrider greatly. “Come, K’ndar. I would like to reward you, in whatever form I am capable of. Within reason, of course. This home of mine, for instance, isn’t one of them. I like to live in it.” He smiled.

I haven’t the faintest idea of what I might want, he thought. Certainly I’m not interested in this gigantic dwelling.

“My Lord, I’m sorry, but I have no need of anything,” K’ndar said.

Lord Dorn shook his head. “No matter. You needn’t decide now. I am in your debt. You are welcome here, always. My grandmother still speaks of ‘that fine young dragonrider ”Canmar”’. Were she to learn that I’d turned down a request from you, she’d skin me alive.”

K’ndar couldn’t help but laugh. Hazel, Singing Waters unofficial matriarch, was a queen in her own right.

“Thank you sir, your skin is safe with me. I’ll always remember my day with her. What a lovely person she is. You’re fortunate to have her.”

“She is, and I am. Frail she is only in physique. She’s as close to a gold dragon as any human I’ve met. By the way, K’ndar, I see your boots looking much the worse for wear.”

K’ndar glanced at his boots. They were still stiff from being soaked, and he wouldn’t admit it to Marl, Landing’s healer, but they were hurting his freshly healed feet.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. They got wet while I was chasing after Vika. Leather never seems to recover from being soaked.”

“Hmmm.” Lord Dorn turned his head and called out, loudly, “Crafter Mela? Mela, please, would you come here?”

The woman wearing the Weaver craft braid turned at the call and walked over. K’ndar thought, her back hurts. I can see it from her gait.

“My Lord?”

“K’ndar, Mela is my Master Weaver-but she also has a fine leather crafter and bootmaker in her crafthall. Mela, would you take a look at K’ndar’s boots?”

K’ndar quailed. What?

The woman was shocked by their condition. “What in the world? Why are you walking about in those boots? They’re a wreck! I’ll bet you’ve blisters on your blisters. Dreadful! Sit. SIT!” she snapped.

He obeyed without thinking. She produced a scribe, a measuring tape and a piece of soft leather from somewhere on her voluminous frame.

“Take ’em off.”

“Ma’am?”

“Those boots. Take ’em off. Now.”

“Ma’am, I’m okay…”

Her eyebrows leaped at his reluctance. Lord Dorn, behind her, bit his tongue tongue to keep from laughing.

“I’m thrice your age, and dragonrider or no, when I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed,” she growled.

He pulled the boots off, not sure if he should laugh or resist. He decided on neither.

“You can’t hide it from me, K’ndar, I can see they’re hurting you. What were you thinking, continuing to wear them? They’re fit for nothing but sole leather, IF that! Now. Stand on this piece of leather. Left foot first.”

She knelt with difficulty. Oh, please, ma’am, he thought, looking down at the back of her grayed head.

Within minutes, she’d measured both his feet. Lord Dorn reached down to help her to her feet. She tucked the tools away.

He pulled the boots back on and stood up. Yes, his feet hurt. The moment I get back to Landing, I’m going back into the slippers.

“Lord Dorn will tell you where to find my crafthall, K’ndar. You come to it in two days and my bootmaker will make the final fitting on the boots she’ll make for you.”

“Ma’am, I can afford…”

“Nonsense,” she said. She barely reached his chin. She wagged two gnarled, twisted fingers just in front of his nose.

“Two days,” she enunciated.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, submitting.

She trundled off to rejoin the group at the fire pit.

He looked helplessly at Lord Dorn.

The Holder shrugged.He held up two fingers.

“Two days,” he said, grinning.