The Dragons of Sara Sara Read Online Free Page A

only place they never went was the Blasted Lands. There was no trading to be had there. There was not a living soul there to trade with. Certainly none that could be called human.

● Chapter 2
    The first of the outlying farms came into sight, and then the winding dusty road that served as a link between the farms and the village. Clearly the ground tremor had reached even here. People could be seen milling about on some of the farms. Horses being hitched or saddled, some people simply running toward the road. The sight of the two riders with a Trader’s wagon in hot pursuit was enough to cause a stir even if the ground rumbling hadn't. There were already some farmers on the road, heading into the village. Alarm was spreading like a grass fire as Catharina sped by them all, Antonin’s horse pounding the roadway not far behind. Both were low in the saddle and riding like the wind. No sooner had some people moved back onto the road after their passing than they were jumping for their lives as the huge wagon of the Trader thundered past in a cloud of dust. People and horses were scattered into the surrounding plain, men shouting and waving their arms. Children were screaming and dogs barking in excitement, and the goodwives tried desperately to keep their families from being tipped into the dust or trampled.
    Finally Catharina’s horse drummed over the low wooden bridge that spanned The West Water, into the village. She swept on through heading directly to her Sept House on the far edge of the village. The Elders of the Clan were there and would know what it was she had faced. Surely they would know what it was that had assailed her with such ferocity and evil. She could still feel her skin prickling.
    Antonin saw her direction, and knew he could not follow. No man was allowed in the Clan compound of the Maidens of the Mare Altan. He slid Asifa to a stop in front of the inn hoping that his father and mother would either be there already or soon arriving. The sun was almost below the horizon, and long shadows fell across the common. Only a blazing red crescent stained the horizon. The trader swept his wagon into the square in front of the inn, almost toppling it over as it went up on to two wheels as he hauled the team of six around in a tight circle to stop them.
    Those already in the square scattered with wild shouts. Smaller carts and farm wagons were filling the square as more and more people poured in from the surrounding district.
    The Dog and Girl was a two story building and the largest in the village. As far as anyone knew, the village had actually grown up around the inn. Rumour and story had it that the inn had been built in a past age. Its foundations were of huge stones deeply buried in the hard earth, and they outlined a building of much larger size than the one that now stood. Even the name was a mystery. The Dog and Girl was the name on a painted sign swung on cross bars on a solid post in front of the inn. On it was painted a girl in flowing dress with a large shaggy red haired dog on a lead beside her. The girls cloths were strange. No one wore cloths like that in any land that was known, even by the Traders. No one had ever seen a dog like the one she led. In the background of the painting stood a stone monolith with strange writing on it.
    The innkeeper, Daga Domain by name kept the sign in good repair. As had all of his ancestors before him. A tradition as binding as that of the inn itself remaining open. The inn never closed although trade was spare most times. The busiest days were celebrations of Harvest and the two days – shruq dyal shshems and ghrub dyal shshems - that marked the longest and shortest days of the year. Weddings and Name Days, funerals and celebrations of good fortune often kept the inn lamps burning well into the night.
    This night had the makings of the busiest night the inn had seen since the passing of the Queen’s Guard this way many years ago. That had been the last time that