Dragon's Egg by Sarah L. Thomson Page A

bridge over the river at Dragonsford. The spring floods, when snow melted in the mountains, would sweep any such structure away.Instead, at a shallow place, broad flat stones had been laid in the water so that horses and carts and humans could cross easily, wetting their feet but doing themselves no other harm.
    The mare delicately picked her way across the river, and they were in the market town. All the old buildings in Dragonsford were stone built, with slate roofs, close to the river. But a ring of thatched, wooden buildings had sprung up around them.
    Mella had known all her life that all the old buildings in the mountains were stone. It hadn’t occurred to her to think why. Now, as the mare stepped onto the cobbled main street, she found herself thinking of the scorched trees and smoldering turf where Damien had fought the dragon.
    How long had it been since a dragon had been seen near Dragonsford? Long enough for people to forget how fast a straw roof burned.
    Over brown thatch and shingles of dark gray slate she could see the Dragontooth Mountains. Mella found she was holding her breath. Thelower slopes were closely covered with dark green spruce, and above were hills of yellow green grass, and then mounds of bare gray rock that rose higher and higher, until her eye reached the peaks splashed white with snow.
    Mella had seen those mountains every day of her life. But she hadn’t quite realized until now just what she had promised to do. To carry the Egg into that wilderness?
    Roger didn’t seem troubled by the sight of the mountains like jagged teeth gnawing at the sky. “Do you know this town?” he asked her, raising his voice so she could hear him over the noise ahead.
    â€œI’ve been here once,” Mella answered. “For the market. Father always stays at the Red Hart when he comes.” She pointed to the right.
    Roger turned the mare off to the left. “Then we should stay elsewhere,” he called. “In case they’re looking for us.”
    He had to speak loudly because the main street of Dragonsford, running along the river, wasthronged with loaded wagons, horses, oxen, donkeys, and people on foot. A shepherd urged his herd along, whistling at a black-eared dog who nipped flanks and nudged shoulders until the sheep turned the right way. Mella saw a tinker’s caravan, red and green and yellow. A wagon passed by, loaded with dragons in cages; one of them hissed and beat its stubby wings. And over all the bleats and curses and shouts and laughter, the river itself hissed and churned among stones as it rushed down from the steep slopes of the mountains.
    The inn they finally chose was far back from the river, a flimsy wooden structure that seemed to sag to one side. To Mella’s mind, the innkeeper should have been ashamed of his dirty yard, his unpainted doorway, and the rank smell that wafted out from his stables. Her father would never have stood for such slovenliness. But surely no one would think to look for them here.
    Beside them in the yard, a merchant had thrown back the cover over his wagon and was checkingthe goods inside. Mella glimpsed bolts of cloth, small barrels and chests, a case of small, dark bottles, before the man gave her an angry look and moved to block her view.
    There was no evidence of other guests. Clearly this was not one of Dragonsford’s more popular inns.
    â€œI brought this,” Mella said, and she pulled a bracelet over her wrist to show Roger. The chain was only brass, but there were three beads of red coral to match the five that hung from her necklace, tucked deep inside her sack for safekeeping. “It will pay for a night’s lodging, don’t you think?”
    Roger shook his head.
    Dismayed, Mella looked down at her treasured bit of jewelry. Da had taken it in trade from a merchant a year ago and given it, along with the necklace, to her. “But it’s—”
    â€œI meant, no, don’t sell your