How to Slay a Dragon (6 page)

The ogre stopped short, insomuch as is possible for a fifteen-foot tall monster, and eyed Lucky with suspicion.

Lucky eyed it back.

Not to be outdone, the ogre eyed him a second time, or maybe it just forgot it had eyed him once already. Oddly, it stepped aside, perhaps afraid of the bright orange tunic Lucky wore. Then it spotted Greg and growled. Lucky had been right. Greg should have stuck with the brighter outfit.

Greg tried to will himself invisible, but no such luck. The ogre charged, and just as in Greg’s story about the giant, the ground trembled under its every step. Greg trembled more. He raised his sword high and tried his best to appear menacing.

Surprisingly the ogre slowed, as if it recognized the power Greg wielded. Coincidence, more likely. As proof, it howled and resumed its charge.

Greg turned to run, but a tree grabbed his arm, spun him around, prodded him toward the ogre. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, tried to judge when to begin his swing. The ogre closed to twenty feet . . . fifteen . . . ten.

Five.

Greg was so concerned about timing he forgot to swing at all. At the last second he lowered the sword, ducked under the ogre’s outstretched arms, and scrambled between its massive legs. The dim-witted ogre stared at the ground between its feet and scratched its head. Greg rose behind it.

Too late, the ogre turned. Greg gathered all his courage and lashed out at a thigh.

With a howl the creature swatted the air. Greg felt the sword tear from his grip and heard Lucky scream. The blade had lodged into the trunk of a tree, pinning Lucky by the fabric of his tunic.

Greg looked for only an instant. His mind raced wildly, but didn’t like any of the thoughts it came up with. Even with the help of a magic sword he hadn’t been able to defeat the ogre. Now here he was, unarmed, facing the heightened rage of an injured monster. Lucky screamed a warning, and the ogre lashed out with a crushing blow that nearly flattened Greg’s skull.

Greg ducked and rolled and scuttled backwards, beyond the ogre’s reach, and then he was up and moving, racing to the tree where Lucky was pinned. He grabbed the hilt of the sword, put his weight behind it.

The ogre lumbered closer. Surely Lucky would have screamed another warning if Greg hadn’t planted a hand over his mouth for leverage. With a pop the blade pulled free, and Greg spun to face his doom. “Do something, Lucky!”

Precious seconds passed while Lucky returned to searching his pack. He pulled out the remaining watermelon half from lunch and threw it at the ogre, but the beast batted it down. Apparently its tastes lay elsewhere.

Greg hefted the sword again, his vision blurred by tears, his hands still stinging from the previous blow. With a determined yell he thrust up and out. Again the ogre swatted the blade from his grasp.

Greg knew in that moment all hope was lost. If this were an entry in his journal it could be none but the last. The Mighty Greghart was going to lose this battle, and when battling ogres, one loss was surely all you got.

The beast raised a huge ham-fist into the air. Greg cringed and closed his eyes.

“This way, Greg!”

One eye popped open. Miraculously the trees had pulled back to reveal a single point of light. Lucky bent and scooped up the fallen sword but didn’t return with it. He just kept running toward the edge of the forest.

The ogre’s fist dropped like a falling mountain. Greg ducked and bounced off the creature’s leg, running dazed, fighting to keep his balance. Fortunately, running was Greg’s specialty. The ogre had a long stride, but it was too heavy to run very fast. It was no more of a threat in a chase than Manny Malice had been in the woods behind Greg’s house.

Don’t trip!

In his mind, Greg saw the ogre’s foot slam down on his back, squashing him like a jelly doughnut. His brain shut down after that. He focused on the light ahead.

He ran and ran until the booming footsteps faded and all he could hear was his own labored breathing. Finally he risked a glance over his shoulder . . . and actually smiled. The ogre had given up the chase. Greg’s heart raced, his limbs trembled, and his whole body ached, but he had never felt more exhilarated in his life. With a scream of glee he broke from the forest and was hit by a welcome wash of sunlight.

Unfortunately, he was then hit by something more substantial. Greg crumpled to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs, as the welcome light gave way to an unpleasant blackness that crept in from the corners of his vision.

He was out of the woods, but not out of trouble.

Hart to Heart

“You all right?” Lucky asked.

Greg answered once the sky stopped spinning. “W-what happened?”

He sat up slowly and looked around. Every muscle in his body ached. He was in a large clearing surrounded, as clearings often are, by forest. Behind him the trees stood dense and foreboding, but those ahead seemed less nightmarish, more like the woods back home.

A nearby moan caused him to notice a sandy-haired boy sprawled out a few feet away. He looked two or three years younger than Greg, but heavily muscled for his size.

“Who’s this?” Greg asked.

Lucky gently patted the boy’s cheeks. “Looks like Greatheart’s little brother, but I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years.”

“Greatheart, the dragonslayer?”

“Not just any dragonslayer, Greg. The greatest dragonslayer Myrth has ever known.”

“What a break. Now we can get his brother to slay Ruuan.”

“No,” said Lucky. “He’s Greatheart from Myrth, not Greghart from Earth.”

Greg waged a battle with his own body as he fought to stand.

The younger boy was starting to wake. “Oooh . . . what happened?”

“Sorry,” Greg said. “I guess I ran into you. You were standing at the end of the trail.”

With a groan the boy pushed himself to a seated position. “No, I was standing at the
beginning
of the trail. I thought I heard an ogre and decided to take a look.” He shook his head to clear it. “I remember now. The forest pulled back when it saw me coming . . . and then he ran past me,” he said, pointing at Lucky, “and then I saw you, and . . . I don’t remember much after that.”

“You okay?” said Lucky. “Can you stand?”

The boy inspected his limbs with the bluest eyes Greg had ever seen. “I guess so . . . no thanks to him.”

“I said I was sorry,” Greg reminded him. “I
was
being chased by an ogre, after all.”

“Big deal. My brother gets chased by ogres all the time, and he never thinks twice about it.”

“Then you
are
Melvin Greatheart,” Lucky said.

“Melvin?” said Greg. Perhaps, he realized afterward, he should have tried it without the snort.

“Yeah,” the boy snapped, “what about it?”

“Nothing,” Greg answered carefully. “It just doesn’t sound like the name of the brother of a great dragonslayer, that’s all.”

“What would you know about it?” said Melvin. He struggled to his feet. “Wait’ll I tell Marvin what you said. Why, he’ll ride you out of here faster than a band of goblins.”

“Your brother’s name is Marvin?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Nothing.” Greg didn’t really care what the dragonslayer’s name was, as long as he could convince everyone that it was Marvin who was destined to slay Ruuan. Greg tried to help Melvin to his feet, but the boy yanked his hand back and would accept help only from Lucky.

“Well, if you’re all right,” Lucky told Melvin,” we need to be on our way.”

“Wait,” blurted Greg. “It’s getting late, don’t you think? Maybe we should be looking for a place to stop for the night.” Lucky shot him a warning glance, but Greg looked quickly to Melvin. “Hey, how about we stay with you?”

“That’s okay, Melvin,” said Lucky. “We’ve troubled you enough already. We’ll just stop at the next house we see.”

Melvin frowned. “There aren’t any other houses in this part of the kingdom.”

“Okay, then, we’ll camp here.”

“By the edge of the Enchanted Forest? Were you planning on waking up in the morning? No, it’s not safe for fools to camp out here. I guess you better come home with me. My folks won’t mind.” He glowered at Greg and added, “Just watch where you’re going, okay?”

Now Greg frowned. He’d already said he was sorry. What more could he do? He’d like to see what Melvin would have done if he’d been chased by an ogre.

As the last of the day’s light faded, the three boys trudged up the path toward a small cabin in the woods. If Marvin Greatheart was as experienced at slaying dragons as Lucky said, apparently he wasn’t in it for the treasure. He lived in not a home but a hovel. Large holes dominated the thatch roof, and the rotted wood siding hung at odd angles.

An older woman in a plain peasant’s dress stepped from the cabin as they approached. She dried her hands on an apron, placed them on her hips and squinted at the trio, frowning.

“Melvin. Where on Myrth have you been?”

“The Enchanted Forest,” said Melvin.

“The Enchanted Forest! What have I told you about playing down there?”

“I didn’t go inside, Mom. Just to the edge. I thought I heard an ogre.”

“My word, you sound more like your brother every day. How many times have I told you you’re too young to play with ogres?”

“I wasn’t playing with it. They were,” he said pointing at Greg and Lucky.

His mother studied the pair disapprovingly. “And who might they be?”

Lucky took off his cap and held it sheepishly before him. “Luke Day, ma’am, from Pendegrass Castle.”

“
Lucky
Day?” she said. “I’ve heard of you. King Peter considers you a close, personal friend.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

She peered at him as if questioning why this would be so. “Do you know my son Marvin?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve seen him honored by the king on many occasion.”

Mrs. Greatheart actually smiled at this remark, but her expression quickly dissolved when she regarded Greg. “And who is this?”

Greg didn’t have a hat to take off, but he bowed just the same. “Greg Hart, ma’am. I’m . . . er . . . traveling with Lucky.”

Melvin snapped his head Greg’s way, his expression darkening. The woman’s jaw dropped. She shifted her apron without taking her eyes off of Greg.

“
The
Greghart?”

Greg faltered. He hadn’t thought it possible the Greathearts would know of the prophecy. “Well, actually, ma’am, I’d like to talk to you about that.”

“Oh, my,” she said, poofing her graying hair. “Yes, certainly. Come inside. Norman will want to hear, I’m sure.”

“Norman?”

“My husband.”

“He used to be a great dragonslayer, too,” Lucky told Greg. “He’s retired now.”

“He was a dragonslayer, and he retired? Alive? I’m guessing it wasn’t a long career.”

“Probably seemed long,” Lucky said.

Mrs. Greatheart shooed them all through the door and quickly called for her husband. Somehow the house looked even smaller inside than out. The meager furnishings were the type that had probably never even seen better days, but the place had a cozy feel, with the smell of freshly baked bread and odd spices.

Eventually Norman Greatheart hobbled in, looking much like Greg would have expected a retired dragonslayer to look. He wore a patch over one eye and walked with a limp that had a way of shifting from one leg to the other. One hand clutched his lower back as he moved, while the other clung to a gnarled wooden cane. He shuffled across the room, eased into a tattered chair, and with a creak of his neck, turned to regard his guests with his one good eye.

“Yes, Edna, what is it?”

“We have guests, dear.
Special
guests.” She grabbed Greg by the shoulders and pivoted him to face Norman’s chair. “Do you know who this is?”

Norman leaned forward and examined Greg more closely, his eye darting this way and that.

“Looks like some boy, Edna. And a rather scrawny one at that. You got a name, son?”

“Greg Hart, sir.”

Norman’s eye grew wide, and his mouth formed a perfect circle. “
The
Greghart? From the prophecy?”

“Uh, I was just telling your wife I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Wonderful!” said Norman. “Always willing to talk to a fellow dragonslayer.”

“No, I’m not a dragonslayer.”

“Greg!” warned Lucky.

“Of course he’s not a dragonslayerartH,” said Melvin. “Look at him, he’s just a kid.”

“Now, Melvin,” scolded Mrs. Greatheart. “That’s no way to talk about a great hero.”

“But he’s not a dragonslayer,” Melvin insisted. “He said so himself.”

“He was just being modest.”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Greg.

Lucky tried another loud noise but failed to draw anyone’s attention.

“See,” said Melvin. “He’s not.”

“Enough,” cried Mrs. Greatheart. “If you can’t behave then go to your room.”

“But—”

“Not another word. Now go!”

Melvin muttered something under his breath and shuffled off to one corner. (Apparently the house was too small for him to actually have his own room.) As the conversation continued, the boy sat with his arms folded over his chest, glowering at Greg. His expression was, Greg noticed, not much different from Lucky’s.

“So how long have you been slaying dragons, Greghart?” asked Norman.

“I haven’t,” said Greg. “I told you, I’m not a dragonslayer.”

“See!” Melvin shouted from his corner.

“Hush,” scolded Mrs. Greatheart.

“Are you saying you’ve not slew a single dragon?” asked Norman in disbelief.

“Of course not,” said Greg. “I’m just a kid.”

“Oh, this is wonderful. Edna, did you hear? It’s the boy’s first dragon.”

“How exciting,” said Mrs. Greatheart. “And to think, we met him before he became famous.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Lucky. “There’s not a man or woman in the kingdom who doesn’t know of the Mighty Greghart’s heroic deeds.”

Greg sighed. “I’m sure that will all end once Ruuan eats me.”

“Eats you?” Norman said, chuckling. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Greg ignored Lucky, who had reached new heights as he jumped up and down, waving his arms furiously. “The prophecy is wrong.”