Dragon's Egg (3 page)

“Wait!” The dragon's tail crashed down in front of her, blocking the way. Twigs and acorns went flying. “If you lie to me, human, then I will not stay to fight the Defenders. I will fly to my home. My
wing is strong enough for that. But I will return, and with more of my kind. Then every house here will be burned to the ground. No one will escape. Do you understand, little human thief?”

Mella swallowed.

“I'm
not
a thief,” she said. “And I understand.”

The dragon lifted his tail. Mella ran.

“M
ella Evasdaughter!”

Mama stood with her hands on her hips, looking down at her younger child.

“Mama, listen—” Mella tried to say between gasps.

She had run all the way back to the Inn, only to arrive breathless, with her braid undone, her skirt muddy, and her basket gone. Her mother had not been pleased.

“Where is the basket? Where are the herbs I sent you for? What have you been doing this long time? Well, girl?”

“Mama, there was—”

“Never mind! I don't want to hear it. Playing
some game in the woods, forgetting your errand, losing good food—you're too old for such foolishness. Lilla can go to Cate's this afternoon, and you can scrub every inch of the kitchen floor. Perhaps that'll teach you not to be so careless.”

“But, Mama!”

“
What,
child?” Mama's cheeks were bright red, her eyes narrow. And Mella's words died on her tongue.

If she said there was a dragon hidden in the woods, her mother would think it nothing but a fairy story, and Mella would only lose her supper as well as being forced to scrub the kitchen floor. And if, by some miracle, her mother believed her, what would she do but tell Damien, the dragon-slayer?
Then every house here will be burned to the ground,
the dragon had said.
No one will escape.

“Nothing, Mama.”

Mella's mother let out her breath in a long sigh through tight lips. “Then get you into the kitchen and start scrubbing.”

Mella had no chance even to slip upstairs to the
attic and make sure the egg was safe under her bed, for Mama was shaping the risen bread dough into loaves while keeping an eye on Mella's work. On her hands and knees, skirts tucked up, Mella scrubbed her way inch by inch across the stone floor and worried. Would the dragon wait? Would the egg grow too cold? The kitchen floor had never seemed so big. Surely it was
miles
across. If Mama would only finish with her baking, Mella could sneak out, seize the egg, and run. No matter what her punishment would be afterward.

“There now!” Mama set the loaves into the warming cupboard, built into the wall beside the chimney, to rise a second time. Mella put her head down and worked the brush industriously across the floor as Mama washed her hands, dried them on her apron, and left the kitchen.

Now! Mella dropped the brush into the bucket and jumped up, just as Mama came back from the cold room with a cheese in her hands. Mella pretended to be stretching her back, and Mama, with a sniff, began to slice up the cheese.

The brush rasped across the stones. The soapy water was cold and harsh on Mella's hands. Mama would
never
be done slicing that cheese! But she finished at last and went up to the second floor. Mella crept to the foot of the stairs and stood listening. She heard Mama talking to Raya. They must be standing together on the second-floor landing. No hope that Mella could creep around them and fetch the egg.

In desperation, Mella looked around the kitchen for an idea, and caught a glimpse of green ribbons in fair hair through the door to the common room.

“Lilla!” Mella whispered as loudly as she dared.

“What is it?” Coming to the doorway, Lilla crossed her arms and looked unfriendly.

“Lilla, please,” Mella begged. “I need something from our room.”

“Get it yourself.”

“I'm meant to be scrubbing the floor. If Mama sees me…”

Lilla sniffed. “Next time you want a favor from me, perhaps you'll keep your tongue off me and
Jonas Evadson. I'm not putting myself out for
you.
” She turned and walked away just as Mella heard footsteps coming down the stairs. When Mama came in she was scrubbing again.

Mama went to the cold room once more and came back. To the stables and came back. To the common room and came back. Mella could have wept with frustration. But when Mama went out on the porch to talk to Da, she saw another chance.

She had scrubbed her way over to the common room door, and in the other room she heard a whistled tune. A plan formed in her mind.

“Roger!” she called softly.

The squire, a small book in his hand, stopped and lifted his eyebrows as he looked at her. Mella was sorry now that she'd been so short with him before, but there was no help for it.

“Please,
” she whispered at him. “I need you.”

Knights had to help when they were asked, didn't they? And squires too. Mella thought so. After a moment, Roger came over to the doorway.

Mella wasted no time. “Up in the attic. The
stairs over there.” She pointed with her chin. “There's a basket wrapped up in a shawl under the bed. Bring it to me.”

Roger stared down at her, puzzled. “But what is it? Why do you need it?”

“Just go now,” Mella insisted. She hated to grovel like this, on her knees before him. But she would, if it could save the egg and the Inn. “Please,” she begged. “I've no one else to ask.”

Roger hesitated for a moment. Then, tucking his book into a pocket, he crossed the kitchen and disappeared up the stairs just as Mama came back from the porch.

Roger had the sense not to come down until Mama had left the room again. But the instant she was gone he hurried into the kitchen with the basket in one hand. “What
is
it?” he demanded. “It's heavy as a rock!”

“
Careful
with it!” Tugging her gloves on, Mella anxiously lifted the egg from the basket. It was definitely less hot than it had been earlier, but she was relieved still to feel some warmth through
the dragonhide. “Make a place in the coals for it,” she ordered Roger.

The look on Roger's face told her that he would not do much more for her without an explanation. But he picked up the poker and dug a hole in the red and black coals in the hearth. Gingerly Mella tucked the egg down into its fiery nest and raked coals over it so that it was hidden.

“What is it?” Roger asked again. “It felt like a stone, but so hot! What keeps heat like that?”

“I can't tell you.” Mella knew how churlish she must seem. He had helped her, when all she'd been was rude to him. But he was the dragon-slayer's squire. How could she tell him he had just helped to save a dragon's egg?

And suddenly it occurred to her that he could help with something else as well. “Where's your master?” she asked.

“Damien? He went out. He heard something in the woods—well, you were there, you heard it too. And what do you mean, you can't tell me? I helped you!”

Mella could hardly blame Roger for being exasperated. But at least the egg was warm again. Now, if only the dragon had the sense to stay hidden, so that Damien wouldn't find him…

“Listen,” Roger began, but something stopped him.

It was the sound of Lilla screaming.

Mella, with Roger on her heels, raced out into the Inn's yard. Her heart pounding, she looked up, scanning the skies for the dragon. It must have become tired of waiting for her or decided that she was not trustworthy and come to take its egg for itself.

But there was nothing in the air. She brought her gaze down and saw the chestnut horse turning in from the road.

Damien was slumped over his steed's neck. Roger was beside him now and caught him, or tried to, as his master tumbled from the saddle. But they both would have ended up in a heap on the ground if Mella's father hadn't run to help. “Lilla! Fetch a healer,” Da bellowed. “Help me
with him, let's get him to a bed.” Peder and Poll, the stable boys, ran forward, along with a few of the guests. Mella retreated into the kitchen as, with Roger leading the way, they carried Damien inside and up the stairs. His eyes were closed; blood dripped from his forehead. There was blood elsewhere, as well. Too much of it. He had on a leather coat with metal plates sewn into its length; the steel had been blackened as if with fire, and some of the plates were torn. Mella could too easily imagine the claws and teeth that could rip steel as though it were the thinnest, finest linen.

Roger, white faced, ran down the stairs again and through the common room out into the yard. Mella was left alone in the kitchen. It was strangely quiet.

I will return, and with more of my kind.

The dragon must think she'd broken her word and sent Damien to kill it. She had to prove that it wasn't so. If there were the slightest chance that the dragon had not left yet…

Her gloves protecting her hands, she burrowed through the coals in the hearth to snatch up the egg. A crowd was gathering in the Inn's yard, but no one noticed Mella as she ran. Bits of conversation trailed after her.

“It could not have been a dragon.”

“Indeed it was, looks like it bit his leg clean off—”

“—dying now—”

“But did he kill it?”

“Where is it?”

That was the question indeed, Mella thought, as she rounded the corner of the stable and ran straight into Roger.

M
ella didn't fall down, but she staggered back. Instinctively she hugged the egg close to her body to protect it. Roger, knocked against the stable wall, blinked at her. He had a saddlebag in one hand; he must have been sent to fetch something for Damien.

“What are you doing?” He stared at her. “Where are you taking that—that thing? Wait!”

No time, no time, Mella thought, and she dashed around him. He grabbed at her sleeve but missed.

“There's a
dragon
out there! A true one! Wait!”

Mella ran her fastest. The egg, clutched close to her stomach, was warm enough to fight the icy fear that seemed to seep out from her heart. Too
late. She would be too late. And it would not only be Damien who died. The Inn, the village, everyone she knew…

Her heart was hammering against her ribs, and her breath was coming in huge, loud gasps by the time she left the main road for the side path. Her braid snagged on a branch, but she jerked it loose without looking back and kept going. Up the bank, over the stream to the cave, just as she had twice already that morning…

No dragon.

But there was a wide swath beaten through the undergrowth. A dead bush still smoldered. Black cinders crunched under Mella's feet. With difficulty, holding the egg in one hand, she climbed over the trunk of a tree torn up from the earth, clods of soft dirt still clinging to its roots. Sliding awkwardly down the other side, she saw the dragon.

He lay in a little clearing, his scales now dull and gray. The long neck snaked along the ground, the head half hidden in the grass. A spear was buried a foot deep in the breast.

Mella stood on the edge of the clearing. She should have been glad. The dragon-slayer had succeeded. The beast that had threatened her and her family was dead.

Dead like Gran. Dead like Lady.

Blinking back tears, Mella made her way across the grass and knelt by the dragon's head. Her hair had come loose from its braid and tumbled down around her face. Why should she feel grief? He had been so…alive, that was all. Beautiful, with those gray green scales and eyes like sunlight on the surface of a deep, dark well. Terrifying, but beautiful. And she had made him a promise.

“I brought your egg,” she said aloud. “I didn't tell him where to find you. I kept my word.”

One of the dragon's eyelids lifted.

Mella gasped. But the dragon didn't move.

“A human with honor.” The dragon's voice was a creaky whisper. “Can this be?”

“Here.” Mella held out the egg. “I brought it. It's safe.”

The dragon sighed. His tongue, the color of
blood mixed with ash, flicked out to touch the egg briefly.

“Small human.” The brown eye, darker than before, held Mella's gaze. “I have failed.”

Just as before, it was hard to read much expression on a face covered with scales. But no one could have missed the bitterness in the dragon's voice.

No,
Mella wanted to say.
You tried. You did your best.

But she knew—she'd found out since Gran had died—that trying your best didn't mean you wouldn't fail.

“You,” the dragon whispered. “You have the Egg now.”

“I'll take care of it,” Mella said softly. “I promise.”

“Keep it warm.” The words came slowly, between painful pauses for breath. “It must be placed in fire every night.”

Mella nodded. The dragon's eye closed.

“Wait!” Mella leaned forward. “Will another dragon come for it? How long should I keep it?”

“No.” The dragon heaved in a long, difficult breath. His injured wing, lying limp on the grass, quivered with the effort. “There is not time. To wait for another. You must take the Egg home.”

“Home?” Mella pictured the egg hatching in the Inn's courtyard. She tried to imagine a dragon the size of the one before her sharing the pen with the Inn's herd.

“From the human's town,” the dragon whispered. “Follow the river. Look for the waterfall. Above, two matching peaks. The Fangs. Between them is the Hatching Ground. The Egg must hatch there. Less than a day's flight from here.”

“Into the
mountains
!” Mella nearly dropped the egg. “I can't—I never—”

“You have promised!” The dragon's head, trembling with effort, lifted from the grass. Mella could have wept to see the pain the movement caused.

The dragon's head wavered on its neck. Its eyes held Mella. They seemed to be growing darker by the second. Mella felt as if they were drawing her forward and down.

“A human with honor,” the dragon growled. “You have promised.”

But not this,
Mella wanted to cry.
I never promised this!

So you think you can be a keeper, do you?
Gran's voice suddenly rang in Mella's ears.
It's no light thing you're taking on, my girl. A keeper must see to the dragons every day, in all weathers. You'll sit up with the sick ones, look after the chicks. Dragons are uncanny beasts. They'll take to some and not others. No question, they've taken to you, ever since you were a little toddling thing. But now you must live up to your part of the bargain. You must take care of them.

She was a keeper. She had promised.

The Egg burned in Mella's hands. Without noticing, she began to think of it as the dragon had spoken of it. Not as an egg, but as the Egg.

“I will,” Mella said softly.

The dragon laid his head down again with a long sigh. Something slithered and rustled in the grass. It was the dragon's tail. The sharp tip lifted and, very gently, brushed against Mella's cheek.

“Good flying,” the dragon murmured, his voice very faint now. “May the wind rise beneath your wings.”

“I don't have wings,” Mella objected.

The dragon didn't answer.

Mella sat back on her heels, holding tightly to the Egg. What had she done? Had the dragon laid a spell on her, to make her agree so easily to carry the Egg into the Dragontooth Mountains? It was madness. She was only twelve years old. She could never do such a thing alone.

“Are you really going?”

The voice came from behind her back.

Trying to jump up, turn around, and hold on to the Egg at the same time didn't work. Mella fell over onto the grass and wriggled up into a sitting position, staring at Roger. He was standing not ten yards away. All her attention must have been on the dragon, and his on her, to have missed the sound of his approach.

“You followed me!”

Roger was shaking his head slowly. “That's a
dragon,” he said. “A real one. A true dragon.”

“Of course it is.” Mella found that there were tears on her cheeks. She brushed them off with one hand, holding the Egg with the other.

“
Look
at it.” Slowly, step by step, Roger came closer. “I never thought—I didn't know—it's
real.
”

It's dead,
Mella wanted to shout.
It's real and it's dead. Because of your master.

But she couldn't. What would Roger do? Run home and tell everyone at the Inn that he'd heard her talking to a dragon?

She had to convince him somehow not to tell. She had to coax the dragon-slayer's squire into helping her save a dragon's egg.

“Roger, listen—”

Roger didn't seem to hear her.

“That wingspan,” he marveled. “It must be twenty feet. Still, it's heavy. How does it get airborne? Does it have hollow bones, like a bird's?”

Mella gaped at him.

“And it
talked
to you.” Roger dropped to his
knees beside Mella and the dragon. “I heard it.”

“It's not my fault. I was just trying to—”

“But its mouth, its tongue—they're not shaped for speech. At least not human speech. How could it talk?”

Mella had a question of her own.
Why aren't you angry?
Roger's eyes were wide, his face eager. Why did the dragon-slayer's squire look like he thought a dragon was a wintertide gift?

But she didn't dare ask. No sense reminding Roger that he should have been furious.

“Can they really breathe fire?” Roger went on. His hand, hesitating a little, gingerly stroked the smooth scales on the dragon's neck.

“I don't know,” Mella admitted. “I think it did, back there….” She waved a hand at the trail of trampled undergrowth and scorched trees. “The common ones can only snort a little steam.”

“Really?” Roger looked fascinated. “I wonder how closely they're related. Do you think—”

“Why did you follow me?” Mella broke in. She hadn't meant to interrupt, to be rude. But she
didn't understand this, the way Roger was maundering on.

“Your healer's with Damien. She sent me out of the room.” Roger looked a little embarrassed. “I don't like blood much. And I remembered which way you'd gone, with that—that thing. I found this in the hedge—” He held out her red hair ribbon, and his eyes dropped to the Egg. “That's a dragon's egg.”

Mella nodded. “I found it. This morning.”
Thief!
the dragon had roared at her. But she hadn't meant to steal. She hadn't known. “It was hunting, I think.” The dead deer, its bloody throat. “It had to leave the Egg alone. And I…”

If she hadn't found the Egg, if she hadn't taken it, would the dragon, once it had eaten, have been on its way? Then it would not be dead, and Mella would not have the Egg in her hands and the responsibility for its fate weighing on her. And Damien would have found nothing to fight. That made two deaths on her conscience. Two more.

“Well, then.” Roger looked thoughtful. “We
have to get it to the Hatching Ground, don't you think? How much time do we have?”

“We?”
Mella stared at Roger. To her astonishment, he blushed.

“I mean…if you don't mind my coming?”

Mella was not usually at a loss for words, but she couldn't figure out how to answer. Mind? She didn't mind, precisely. Just a moment ago she had thought that she could never do this alone. Mind? That wasn't it.

This didn't make sense. She was a keeper, she'd talked to the dragon, she'd made a promise. Mella knew why
she
meant to save the Egg. But Roger…

“Why would you want to?” she demanded. “It's a dragon! They said your master's dying. It killed him!”

“Damien's not dead,” Roger answered, although his face grew sober. “The healer said he should recover, if he doesn't take fever too badly. And anyway, it was just defending its young. Any living thing would do the same. You can't blame it for that.”

Mella shook her head, bewildered.

“It's a true dragon,” Roger went on, and his face lit up with excitement. “I never thought they were real. Can you imagine, seeing one up close?
Talking
to it? Well, you can, I suppose. Imagine. I mean, you don't need to. But I…” His eyes traveled over the bulk of the dragon, its torn wing, its bloodstained breast. “It's
magnificent.
We have to take care of that egg. You'll let me come?”

Mella didn't know what to answer.