Dragon's Egg

by Sarah L. Thomson

  Lelan, Mella thought, talked more than enough to make up for her husband’s silence.

  “An eagle, you say? Aye, they’re vicious creatures. And the damage they do to the flock at lambing, it’s terrible. We try to keep the ewes in the pens when they’re near to birthing, but there are always a few who get out to have their babies in the open. Sheep aren’t the brainiest of creatures, that’s the truth. But what was Gwyn thinking, sending a slip of a lad like you up a great tree to an eagle’s nest?”

  “He was too heavy,” Roger explained, wincing as Lelan rubbed a greasy ointment into the cut. “Besides, he didn’t really send—”

  “You might have been killed, and surely a boy’s life is worth more than a lamb’s. I’ll tell him so, have no fear. Now, off with that shirt, my dear, and I’ll stitch up that tear in a half a moment.”

  Roger was halfway out of his shirt when Gwyn came in, ducking under the low lintel of the doorway, the dogs at his heels.

  “Lamb’ll do well enough,” he said briefly. “Whose horse is that before Rhil’s croft?”

  “A stranger, indeed,” Lelan answered. “Can you imagine, three strangers in one day! I can’t remember it happening before. A gentleman, well spoken he is, and he says he’s looking for someone. Supper in a moment, my dears. The oatcakes are just baking.”

  Another stranger? Here, in this tiny village? Mella met Roger’s eyes with a feeling of unease, and he slowly pulled his shirt back on just as the door to Gwyn’s croft swung open.

  “Rhil,” said Gwyn, in greeting and question all at once.

  The man who stood in the doorway was gray haired and gray bearded, stocky, and frowning. Other villagers, behind him, peered over his shoulders.

  “Gwyn,” he said, with a nod. “I hear you’ve taken in two children for the night?”

  “Right enough,” Gwyn said as Lelan paused, a spoon poised above a pot of stew over the fire. Jes whined in Tobin’s lap and held out her arms for her mother. “They did me a service.”

  “Someone is here who has an interest in them,” Rhil said and stepped aside to let Alain into the room.

  Mella felt a shriek leap up in her throat, but she strangled it before it had a chance to get out. Roger, too, jumped as if he’d been stung by a wasp. But there were people all around. Gwyn was standing close by. Alain could hardly kidnap them in front of an entire village.

  “Yes, this is them,” Alain said, shaking his head sorrowfully. He walked stiffly, as if it hurt him to put weight on his left knee. “Your mother’s heartbroken,” he told Mella reproachfully. “How could you worry her so?”

  Words knotted up in Mella’s mouth, and she couldn’t loosen one to get it out. Her mother? Well, her mother must be worried, true enough, she thought with a stab of guilt. But why should Alain, of all people—

  “You know these children, master?” Gwyn asked.

  “Know them? Aye, of course. This is my niece. My own sister’s child.”

  All the knotted-up words burst out of Mella’s mouth in a cry of outrage.

  “That’s not true!” she managed to say, gasping with indignation. “He’s—he’s a thief, he’s a criminal, he’s a kidnapper—”

  But Alain was talking too, and Roger, and Rhil.

  “Four days ago she ran away from home. She’s always been a wild girl, but since she took up with this rogue here—”

  “He’s not Mella’s uncle, we know him—”

  “Master, now, the child says she doesn’t know you.”

  “If it wasn’t for my sister I’d not have bothered to look for her at all. Nothing but trouble since the day she was born.”

  “It’s a lie, he’s lying!”

  “And a thief as well, this time. Look in her sack. See if you don’t find there the bracelet that’s a match for this. She stole it from her own mother, the heartless thing that she is.”

  Mella choked as Alain held out his bandaged hand. Dangling from it was a necklace with five coral beads. When she’d last seen it, he had tossed it aside as worthless. With all that had happened that night, she’d completely forgotten to pick it up out of the grass.

  “That’s mine!” she said with fury. “He stole it from me!”

  Frowning, Rhil picked up Mella’s sack.

  “That’s mine!” Mella cried out again. But Gwyn’s hand fell heavily on her shoulder.

  “Hush a moment, child.”

  “But he—”

  “You’ll have your say. I warrant it.”

  Rhil’s fingers looked thick and clumsy, but they were surprisingly deft as he sorted through Mella’s possessions and found the bracelet easily.

  “There now,” Alain said with satisfaction. “Didn’t I say so?”

  “Well enough.” Rhil frowned at the trinket. “There’s proof, of a sort.”

  “It’s not!” Mella shouted.

  “Let the child tell her side, Rhil.” Gwyn’s voice was sober, his hand firm on Mella’s shoulder.

  “Tell them, Mella.” Roger nodded at her.

  “He’s not—” Mella caught her breath and tried to order her thoughts. “He’s not my uncle. He stole that necklace from me. He’s the thief!” Awkwardly, the story of their encounter with Alain came out, Roger nodding eagerly to confirm everything she said. There was silence in the little croft after she had finished.

  “Dragons?” Rhil looked dubious. “Never heard of wild dragons attacking a man.”

  “Kidnapped you?” another villager, leaning in the doorway, asked. “Why, then?”

  “Well, because…Roger’s father…he’s rich,” Mella explained.

  Alain laughed shortly. “Rich? That one?”

  Roger—torn shirt, unwashed hair, dirty face, scratched hands—looked helplessly at Mella.

  “You see?” Alain sighed. “What my sister’s had to endure from this one, I can’t tell you. Enough of this storytelling now. You’re both to come home with me.”

  Roger, with two quick strides, crossed the room to stand by Mella’s side.

  “But it’s not true!” Mella shouted.

  “Why were you wandering the hills then?” Rhil asked fiercely, turning a sharp look on her. “Two children, alone in the mountains? If you weren’t fleeing home for a good reason, what were you doing there?”

  “We were…” Mella’s voice faltered.

  “We needed to—” Roger said at the same time.

  “And what’s this, then?” Rhil, still holding Mella’s sack, was looking at something inside it. He reached in and drew out the metal box that held the Egg.

  “Don’t touch that!”

  “Mella, don’t—”

  “What have you stolen this time, girl?”

  “That’s mine, that’s mine—”

  But the babble of voices hushed when Rhil flipped open the catch and lifted the lid.

  “What is it?” Fascinated, Rhil tilted the box so that firelight flowed silkily across the glossy surface of the Egg.

  “What have you stolen now, the pair of you?” Deftly, Alain lifted the box from Rhil’s hands.

  “Don’t you touch that!”

  Roger clutched at Mella’s arm. “It’s just a rock,” he said sharply. “It’s nothing valuable. Mella liked the color, that’s all.”

  Alain shut the lid on the Egg smartly. “Enough of this. I must take these children home. Then they’ll be no more trouble to you.”

  Rhil turned to Mella and Roger, his face serious. “Can you give me a better account of yourselves than you have so far?”

  Roger looked steadily at Mella. Mella opened her mouth and shut it again. What could she say that would be believed? She twisted to look up at Gwyn. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, it’s true—”

  But Gwyn didn’t look back at her. He was frowning at the metal box in Alain’s hands. And when he spoke, his deep, low voice caught the attention of everyone in the tiny room.

  “I don’t believe that’s yours to handle, master.”

  Hope flared up brightly in Mella’s h
eart. Did the shepherd believe them after all?

  Alain laughed shortly. “You can’t mean you think it belongs to them? Two children?”

  “You said she’d taken a bracelet. Not…such a thing as that.”

  Alain shrugged. “I told you she’s a thief. Who knows where she took this from?”

  “If it’s not hers, it doesn’t follow that it belongs to you.”

  Alain turned to Rhil. “This is idle talk. Surely you can see who’s lying here?”

  “Lies enough,” Gwyn agreed before Rhil could answer. “But because the children can’t account well for themselves, that doesn’t mean this man’s words are true.”

  Alain snorted. “You’ve two stories to choose from. One of us must be telling the truth.”

  “Indeed?” Gwyn looked keenly at Alain. “Nothing so far as I can see shows that all three of you are not lying.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The villagers shut Roger and Mella up in an empty croft while they talked over what to do with them. The small stone building had once been a stable, and it was windowless, with two small rooms but no door to connect them. Alain was in the other. They’d heard him arguing angrily and then shouting as the door had been shut on him and a heavy stone rolled in front of it to keep it closed. Then silence.

  Lelan had insisted that the two children would not be left without food and warmth, so there was a small fire burning in a hearth against the wall, and they had warm oatcakes and fresh white cheese. But the food tasted flat and dull to Mella, and she felt cold down to her bones. She sat on the hearth while Roger, restless, walked around and around the room. After a while he stopped and came to crouch on his heels next to Mella.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Well, if I hadn’t—I mean, if I had—”

  “Killed him?”

  Roger swallowed, his face pale in the firelight. He nodded.

  “You couldn’t have.”

  “I’m supposed to.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I couldn’t have either. It’s not your fault.”

  If it was anybody’s fault, it was hers. She was the keeper. She should have fought and kicked and bitten to get the Egg back in her hands, and then she should have run. She wouldn’t cry now, as if she were no older than Jes. She wouldn’t. But her hands felt light and empty and so cold. She’d never be warm again unless she could hold the Egg once more.

  Mella pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them, and laid her head down. She lost track of how long she sat, listening to the whispery sound that the leather soles of Roger’s boots made against the smooth dirt floor.

  A new sound, someone breathing hard outside the door, made Mella raise her head. There came a grunt of effort and then a soft thud, like a heavy stone falling onto dirt.

  She and Roger looked at each other, wide-eyed, and Mella rose to her feet as the door opened and Gwyn entered. In his hands was the box that held the Egg.

  Mella burst forward, biting back a cry, her hands out. She would have fought him for the box, but he gave it to her easily and didn’t speak a word, only stood closely watching as she knelt by the hearth, Roger at her shoulder. She opened up the box with shaking hands.

  The Egg had not been in the fire since the night before. Had it been too long? Would it be too cold?

  But the Egg was hot enough to send a cloud of steam into the air when she released the catch and swung the box’s lid open. In fact, it seemed warmer than Mella remembered it being, even just out of the fire. Could the Egg be getting hotter? And what would that mean? Could it be that it was getting closer to hatching?

  No time to worry about that now. Thank goodness her gloves were in her pocket and not in the sack that Rhil had taken from her. She slid them on and picked up the Egg, settling it carefully into the heart of their small fire, and piled coals around it until it was almost covered.

  Gwyn had observed all this in silence. Now he came to crouch beside the fire, his eyes on the Egg glowing black in a nest of coals.

  “Now,” he said. “Tell me how you came by this. And what you mean to do with it.”

  Roger glanced at Mella doubtfully. She was as unsure as he was. Gwyn had brought the Egg back to them—but why? Should they tell him the truth? What would happen if they did?

  But they could hardly be worse off than they were now. Lying and silence had done them no favors and earned them no help.

  Gwyn didn’t press them but waited quietly for them to decide. In the orange gold light of the fire, something gleamed white at the collar of his tunic. A slender piece of ivory, slightly curved and longer than a man’s finger, hung from a leather cord around his neck.

  They had to try trusting him, Mella thought.

  The cave. The Egg. The dying dragon and the promise. Stumbling, backtracking, with occasional additions from Roger, Mella told the story.

  “Follow the river to a waterfall,” Gwyn said thoughtfully when she had finished. “That’s where you’re headed?”

  Mella and Roger both nodded.

  “Then be ready.” Gwyn got to his feet, giving the Egg one last look. “Before dawn, I’ll be back to take you there.”

  On Roger’s advice, Mella slept away as much of the night as she could. Gwyn had said that it was moonless, too dark and too dangerous to wander about the mountainside; he would come back for them when dawn was nearer. She hoped he was telling the truth. But at any rate, the Egg must stay in the fire as long as possible. There was no point in going on if it got too cold to survive.

  It was still black as the inside of a chimney when Gwyn heaved the stone away from the door a second time and called them softly from the doorway. Hurrying, Mella plucked the Egg from the fire. She could feel the bite of its heat even through her gloves as she packed it away in the metal box.

  The stars were hidden behind clouds. Mella clutched the box tightly under one arm and with her free hand clung to Roger, fearing that if she let go, the greedy blackness would swallow him up. Roger, in turn, held onto Gwyn as he led them quickly around the backs of small houses and sheep pens and out into the stony mountain slopes that surrounded the village.

  No one attempted to speak. At first Mella was afraid of being overheard, and later she was too busy trying to keep her footing. When they were well away from the village, Gwyn lit a small lantern, which made it easier to follow him. But it did little to help Mella see where she was walking. The ground under her feet was crafty, plotting against her. No two steps were the same. She staggered in hollows, tripped over roots and hummocks, slipped on unsteady stones. More than once Roger’s hand kept her from falling.

  The night took away all her sense of time as well. Gywn had said he’d come for them before dawn—but how much before? She couldn’t tell. Sounds were odd in the darkness as well. Her own breathing was too loud, almost as if it were coming from somewhere behind her. And sometimes there seemed to be a noise following her—a rustling or muffled thumps like someone walking on packed earth. But it stopped whenever they did, so it must be nothing more than the echo of her own footsteps. Mella put the thought of hunting cats firmly out of her mind and kept going.

  After a while—more than minutes, less than hours—she noticed something: not light returning, but the darkness lessening. The path Gwyn followed showed itself as a wavering strip slightly darker than the grass surrounding it. If she looked hard at the ground, she could see holes before she stepped in them. Roger’s hand, light against his dark sleeve, was dimly visible.

  Even so, when Roger stopped she nearly walked into him. “What is it?” she hissed.

  “I don’t know. He said to wait.”

  The glow of the lantern had moved off to their left. Then Gwyn’s voice came out of the darkness.

  “Come, you two. It’s not long until dawn, but we can rest safely here a while.”

  “What is this place?” Roger asked as they huddled together. Gwyn had found a little stone shelter with only three walls, barely big enough for the thr
ee of them, and so low that the shepherd could not have stood up inside. But it did help to keep them from the worst chill of the night air.

  Gwyn shrugged. “Built long ago, it was. If a man’s caught out on the mountain overnight, looking for his sheep, he’ll shelter here.”

  Mella looked up at him, and his weathered face, half revealed and half concealed in the dim lantern light.

  “Tell us why,” she said. “Why are you helping us?”

  Gwyn touched the pendant around his neck.

  “It was laid on me.” His voice was rough and low, and his gaze stayed on the metal box in Mella’s hands. “On all the oldest sons of my family, back further than I know. To help if we could. My father told me there had been a great betrayal, and only a few were left to set it right.”

  “Betrayal?” Roger’s interest was caught. “Who betrayed someone? When?”

  “I do not know. Nor did he. Long ago, he said. Here, now.” From a sack he carried, he took out two thick cloaks lined with sheepskin and handed one to each of the children. Mella wrapped hers around her shoulders, grateful for the soft warmth. “Lelan would not rest, thinking you might be cold in the night.” He took out a water skin, too, and dry oakcakes, now broken into pieces by their journey. “‘They’re only children,’ she told me. ‘Mind you look after them.’”

  “And so I will. I promise you.” Alain stepped out of the darkness, into the dim circle of light cast by the lantern, his sword out and pointed toward them.

  Mella sat upright, frozen, clutching the box holding the Egg to her chest. Roger grabbed at an oatcake as if it were a weapon. Gwyn didn’t move.

  Alain smiled cheerfully.

  “A dragon’s egg? And you believed that? They told me it was a magic firestone. But I’ve the sense to know a lie when I hear it.” He’d been listening, Mella realized with horror. They’d told Gwyn their story in that tiny croft, with Alain on the other side of a wall. How could they have been so careless? And how had Alain gotten out? Had he shoved his door open against the weight of the stone keeping it closed, dug out through the earthen floor, loosened a rock in the wall? Did it matter?