A Gift of Dragons Read Free

the loaded shovel. Several anxieties flicked through his mind then: he was black with rock dust—would he have time to wash before donning the white tunic of candidacy? And if the eggs were hatching, why hadn’t the candidates been recalled by the wingsecond?
    “Naw! Guess again!” Beterli was much too pleased with himself.
    With a sinking heart, Keevan knew what the news must be, and he could only stare with intense desolation at the older boy.
    “C’mon! Guess, babe!”
    “I’ve no time for guessing games,” Keevan managed to say with indifference. He began to shovel black rock into the barrow as fast as he could.
    “I said, guess.” Beterli grabbed the shovel.
    “And I said I have no time for guessing games.”
    Beterli wrenched the shovel from Keevan’s hands. “Guess!”
    “I’ll have that shovel back, Beterli.” Keevan straightened up, but he didn’t come to Beterli’s bulky shoulder. From somewhere, other boys appeared, some with barrows, some mysteriously alerted to the prospect of a confrontation among their numbers.
    “Babes don’t give orders to candidates around here, babe!”
    Someone sniggered and Keevan, incredulous, knew that he must’ve been dropped from the candidacy.
    He yanked the shovel from Beterli’s loosened grasp. Snarling, the older boy tried to regain possession, but Keevan clung with all his strength to the handle, dragged back and forth as the stronger boy jerked the shovel about.
    With a sudden, unexpected movement, Beterli rammed the handle into Keevan’s chest, knocking him over the barrow handles. Keevan felt a sharp, painful jab behind his left ear, an unbearable pain in his left shin, and then a painless nothingness.
    Mende’s angry voice roused him and, startled, he tried to throw back the covers, thinking he’d overslept. But he couldn’t move, so firmly was he tucked into his bed. And then the constriction of a bandage on his head and the dull sickishness in his leg brought back recent occurrences.
    “Hatching?” he cried.
    “No, lovey,” Mende said in a kind voice. Her hand was cool and gentle on his forehead. “Though there’s some as won’t be at any hatching again.” Her voice took on a stern edge.
    Keevan looked beyond her to see the Weyrwoman, who was frowning with irritation.
    “Keevan, will you tell me what occurred at the black rock bunker?” asked Lessa in an even voice.
    He remembered Beterli now and the quarrel over the shovel and . . . what had Mende said about some not being at any hatching? Much as he hated Beterli, he couldn’t bring himself to tattle on Beterli and force him out of candidacy.
    “Come, lad,” and a note of impatience crept into the Weyrwoman’s voice. “I merely want to know what happened from you, too. Mende said she sent you for black rock. Beterli—and every Weyrling in the cavern—seems to have been on the same errand. What happened?”
    “Beterli took my shovel. I hadn’t finished with it.”
    “There’s more than one shovel. What did he
say
to you?”
    “He’d heard the news.”
    “What news?” The Weyrwoman was suddenly amused.
    “That . . . that . . . there’d been changes.”
    “Is that what he said?”
    “Not exactly”
    “What did he say? C’mon, lad, I’ve heard from everyone else, you know.”
    “He said for me to guess the news.”
    “And you fell for that old gag?” The Weyrwoman’s irritation returned.
    “Consider all the talk last night at supper, Lessa,” Mende said. “Of course the boy would think he’d been eliminated.”
    “In effect, he is, with a broken skull and leg.” Lessa touched his arm in a rare gesture of sympathy. “Be that as it may, Keevan, you’ll have other Impressions. Beterli will not. There are certain rules that must be observed by all candidates, and his conduct proves him unacceptable to the Weyr.”
    She smiled at Mende and then left.
    “I’m still a candidate?” Keevan asked urgently.
    “Well, you are and you aren’t, lovey,” his foster