Dragon's Egg

“I'm just going, Mama!” Mella stepped out onto the back porch of the Inn. Despite her mother's words, she didn't hurry, pausing to tie a scraggly red ribbon around the end of her thick blond braid. The sunlight was just brushing the tops of the dark spruce trees, and above them, softened by a faint blue mist, Mella could see the peaks of the Dragontooth Mountains.

She picked up a pair of heavy gloves and a basket lined with soft, damp moss and went to gather the eggs.

On a normal day, Redtail would be peering over the gate, waiting to have her spine scratched.
Mella kept a long stick leaning against a fence post for that purpose. But today Redtail was off in a far corner of the pen, and although Zip and Zap edged over to get their ears rubbed, neither seemed as eager for the attention as they usually did. In fact, Zap pulled his head out from under Mella's hand to sniff at the air, his nostrils wide and his stubby wings quivering.

Mella glanced over her shoulder, wondering what he could have seen or smelled, but she saw nothing except the Inn, the stable, and the yard. Everything as simple and ordinary as good plain bread. Perhaps they were in for a storm, though she could not spot a cloud in the sky. Changes in the weather sometimes made the herd nervous.

Mella shrugged and unlatched the gate. Digger stopped poking his long, thin snout into the sparse grass of the pen long enough to look up and snort a greeting. Nothing ever disturbed Digger in his single-minded pursuit of anything edible.

“And hello to you, too, old boy.” Mella slipped into the pen and shut the gate behind her. “Now,
Angelâ¦now, Snowâ¦” She patted the warm, scaly bodies jostling about her knees. “Best not to keep Mama waiting for those eggs.”

Each of the brooding dragons sat atop a heap of stone and gravel the creature had scooped up with claws and snout. A dragon could, at will, alter the natural color of its scales to blend in with its surroundings. Most of the females with eggs had already done so, changing from warm brown or gray green or dusty black to a mottled mud color. It took more than a quick look to distinguish a dragon from her nest.

Mella crooned to her herd and rubbed their ears as she slipped her gloved hand underneath them to find the eggs, the heat of their scaly bodies bringing a red glow to her cheeks. On most mornings the dragons would be glad to see her, a happiness that always soaked into her like sunlight. But today half the beasts seemed infected with the same restlessness that had taken Redtail and Zap. Blackie even hissed at Mella and raised the crest along her neck in warning as the girl came to kneel by her nest.

“Blackie!” Astonished, Mella sat back on her heels to stare. “What's come over you this morning?” The little dragon with the dark scales looked properly ashamed of herself and nuzzled at Mella's elbow in apology. “I should hope so,” Mella scolded gently as she retrieved two eggs. She had a dozen in her basket now, cushioned by damp moss to keep them safe. Some were soft brown flecked with gold, some the grayish green of river stones, some white as fresh cream. All steamed slightly in the cool air as if they'd just come from an oven.

“Mella! Where are you with those eggs?”

Mella's mother had stepped out onto the porch to call her. Leaving Blackie with a quick scratch under her jaw, Mella slipped her hand beneath Vixen's body, hoping for one more egg. The Inn was full of hungry guests to feed. There! Tucking the last egg into the moss, Mella set off at a run across the yard, careful not to jostle her basket or crack its contents.

“What a smell of dragons!” Mella's sister, Lilla,
slicing bread at the table, wrinkled her nose as Mella hurried into the kitchen.

“Mind your manners and count your blessings,” Mama said crisply. “If Mella didn't have the touch with the dragons, we'd have to hire a keeper for them, and there'd be no more money for your pretty ribbons, my girl.” When their mother turned back to the fire, Lilla tossed her head so the green ribbons that matched her eyes and the trim on her second-best dress danced in the air.

Mella stuck her tongue out at Lilla. She liked the tindery, sulfury smell of dragons, no matter what her sister said. Lilla was sixteen and hard to please.

“A dozen, well done.” Using only one hand, Mama deftly cracked the eggs into her big blue mixing bowl. “You do have the touch with the dragons, sweet, just like your Gran.”

Mella twisted away a little as if she hadn't noticed Mama's hand reaching out to stroke her hair.

“Fetch me some butter from the cold room, love.” Mama began to beat the eggs briskly. “Lilla, mind how you slice that loaf!”

After dropping her basket by the door and tucking her gloves in her pocket, Mella ran down the stone stairs to the cold room. Built deep into the hill behind the Inn, its rock walls trapped a damp chill even in the height of summer. Mella, a crock of butter in her hands, had to stop and stand still a moment, squeezing her eyes shut to fight the stinging behind them.

Foolish. It had been nearly a year now since Gran died. And Gran had never had the least patience with crying. “Tears mend nothing,” she'd say. “Work mends all.”

Nearly a year since Gran died. And then there had been Lady.

Mella rubbed her hand hard over her eyes. Certainly there was enough work at the Inn to mend anything, especially at breakfast time. She ran back up the stairs to the kitchen, the heels of her shoes clattering.

“Like a herd of cows!” Lilla said, disgusted, slapping trays of sliced bread down on the table. “Just because those overgrown lizards like you,
don't think you needn't do your share here. How long can it take to fetch some butter?”

Mella made a face. “It's not
my
fault Jonas Evadson kissed Betheline behind the smithy yesterday. You needn't yell at
me
!”

“Jonas Evadson, is it?” Mama looked up from giving a final stir to a batch of porridge in an iron pot over the hearth.

“Oh!
” Lilla dropped the bread knife and snatched at Mella's braid. Mella darted to the far side of the table, out of range. Then their father came in with an armful of firewood and asked why breakfast was taking so long when the guests were getting hungry waiting.

Porridge steaming in blue-glazed bowls, topped with golden honey and fresh white cream. Slices of brown bread warm from the oven. Thick strips of salty bacon. And, of course, eggs. Everyone knew that the Inn served dragon's eggs for breakfast, as only Mella's mother could make them: beaten soft and fluffy, light as clouds, with that
tang,
that wildness to the flavor that made people
come from Dragonsford and even farther away just for a taste.

Mama stood by the fire, watching with a hawk's eye as the eggs hissed and sizzled in the huge iron skillet. Mella filled trays and poured tankards of mild brown ale. Lilla flounced through the door, her ribbons fluttering, to serve.

“The stranger wants more ale,” she said, a little breathless, leaning into the doorway and thrusting an empty pitcher at Mella.

The stranger! Mella had almost forgotten the man who'd arrived after dark last night. After handing the full pitcher back to Lilla, she stuck her head through the door to the Inn's common room to get a proper look.

Most of the guests at the Inn were farmers and merchants on their way to or from the market at Dragonsford, well known to Mella's family, their faces as familiar as the geese returning in the spring. It was rare that a true stranger passed by. But the man at the table near the hearth was such a one. He'd traveled far and had two horses, a
pack mule, and enough baggage to cross the kingdom, along with a boy to look after it.

He was eating quietly, looking at no one. Younger than Mella's father, he had skin as dark as the traders from the far south who came for the summer fair at Dragonsford. His linen shirt was unembroidered, and his curly black hair was trimmed close to his skull. Everything about him, Mella thought, seemed neat and plain and perfectly simple. But that did little to explain why the common room was quieter than usual, or why so many sidelong glances were being cast his way. Or why Lilla had put on her second-best gown and her new ribbons for serving today.

“My best bargain,” Atwin of Addsley was saying to Mella's father. He pulled a golden chain out from under his shirt to show a long, curved, bone white ornament dangling from it. “Genuine dragon's tooth. A fact. And not your little farm dragons either. The true ones, old ones, bigger than a house, fire-breathers.”

A dragon's tooth! Mella edged forward into the
room, letting the door swing shut behind her, as Atwin gazed at his treasure. “And he sold me a dozen, the fool! Hardly knew what he had. This will make my fortune.”

“A fraud.”

The stranger's voice was low but keen. Heads turned. Talk died down.

“What do you say?” Atwin drew himself up.

“I said you were deceived.” The stranger didn't stir in his seat, only lifted his eyes to meet Atwin's. “A bear's tooth, most likely. Or the great hunting cat's. Not a dragon's.”

“Aye, I'm afraid he's right, Atwin,” Mella's father said with a grimace of sympathy. “You'll not make your fortune on this trade.”

Atwin pulled the chain over his head to stare at the shard of white ivory in dismay. “Butâ¦it cannotâ¦I gave the man twenty gold, and two lumps of Tyrene amber besides!” Suddenly he grinned wide enough to show the gaps where back teeth were missing. “Well, if I did not know, neither will my customers!” He laughed loudly, and
Mella saw her father relax a little. Disputes in the common room were bad for business.

“Indeed, Atwin, you should have known better,” Da said, chuckling as he refilled the merchant's tankard with ale. “Dragon's teeth! You might as well buy fairy's wings or mermaid's scales.”

“But there used to be,” Mella protested. She wished she could have gotten a better look at the pendant before Atwin tucked it away in a purse at his belt. “True dragons. In the old days.”

Da laughed and tugged her braid. “Aye, in the old days. Along with giants and trolls and goblins. You've listened to too many of your grandmother's stories, sweet.”

Mella blushed and scowled, tossing her head to twitch her braid free. Why should he treat her like a toddling baby? “There
were,
” she insisted. “King Coel drove them into the mountains.” Everybody knew that. It was history, not story. Coel had fought dragons to save the kingdom, and not farm dragons like Zip or Zap. But true dragons, huge and ferocious and magicalâ¦

“That was a thousand years back,” Da argued mildly. “Oh, it makes a grand story. And if I were king, I'd be sure it was written down in every history book. But tales grow in the telling. I'd not be surprised if Coel did no more than clear out those little common dragons from the woods so farmers could clear the land and sow their crops. Who knows the truth of it now?”

“Some do.”

It was the stranger again. And this time the room didn't just grow quieter. It hushed completely. Everyone turned and stared.

The attention didn't seem to trouble the man at all. “There have been true dragons in these mountains for years beyond counting,” he said, lifting his head slowly to look over the company with an impassive face and steady eyes. “Since Coel's great victory, it has been the efforts of my order that has kept the beasts away from human farms and fields.”

“Your order, master? And what might that be, pray?” Mella could tell that Da didn't care for the
direction the conversation was taking. Not that the stranger was angry or rude. On the contrary, his voice and manner were perfectly courteous. It was something about how calm he was, Mella thought. And how certain he seemed of what he was saying. And yet, what he was saying wasâ¦

“I am Damien Damerson,” the man said, bending forward slightly in what seemed a courtly little bow, even from his seat on a low stool. A pendant around his neck, what looked like a narrow arc of white ivory on a golden chain, swung loose, and he tucked it back inside his shirt. “Knight of the Order of Defenders.”

“Defenders?” Da asked skeptically. “Defenders against what?”

Damien lifted one eyebrow. “Against dragons, of course.”

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