How to Slay a Dragon (7 page)

“Nonsense,” said Norman. “Prophecies can’t be wrong.”

“But I’m not the one who’s supposed to slay Ruuan,” said Greg. “Your son is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Melvin is just a child.”

“I am not,” said Melvin.

“Melvin,” Mrs. Greatheart warned.

“Not him,” said Greg. “Marvin.”

“Marvin?” said Norman. “But he isn’t even here. Besides the prophecy says Ruuan will be slain by Greghart from Earth, not Greatheart from Myrth. You
are
from Earth, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s settled. Obviously the prophecy is about you.”

Mrs. Greatheart wrung her hands nervously. “Enough of this foolish talk,” she said. “Dinner’s been ready forever. We have plenty, but if we don’t sit down and eat, it’s going to dry up in the pot.”

Greg tried to object, but the Greathearts were no more interested in his concerns than the crowd back at Pendegrass Castle had been. Eventually he found himself shuffling along with the others to the dinner table just a few feet away, although if he’d judged by the noises Norman made, he’d have thought they hiked across the entire Enchanted Forest to get there.

Even Melvin was allowed to join them, though every time he tried to jump into the conversation his mother cut him off with a word. Greg had a similar problem. Lucky kicked him under the table every time he opened his mouth. Under the best of circumstances this would have been annoying, but Greg found it particularly troublesome since he was trying to eat.

“So, where
is
Marvin?” asked Lucky.

“We’re not sure,” said Edna. “He went to rout some goblins out of the hills north of Durchester about a month ago. We really expected him back by now, but . . . well, not a word. Hopefully there wasn’t any trouble.”

“You don’t—
Ow!
Would you stop that?”

“Sorry,” Lucky mumbled.

Greg rubbed his shin and turned back to Mrs. Greatheart. “You don’t consider routing out goblins trouble?”

“I meant trouble he couldn’t handle, dear,” she explained.

Greg quickly lost his appetite. He couldn’t believe no one knew Marvin’s whereabouts. This was terrible. Who was going to slay Ruuan now?

“You don’t look so well, dear,” said Edna. “Is your wyvern stew disagreeing with you?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s delicious. I’m just not very hungry.”

“Well, I hope you’re not nervous about slaying Ruuan. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“Of course he will,” said Norman as he slurped up a spoonful of broth.

“You say Marvin went to Durchester?” said Lucky. “That’s quite a ways to travel. And I hear they had a lot of rain down there this summer. The creeks are probably swelled. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Edna said. “But I must say, I’ve been worried ever since I found his lucky amulet out back.”

“His what?” said Greg.

“His lucky amulet. Marvin never goes anywhere without it. I guess he must have dropped it and not known.”

“It’s the Amulet of Ruuan,” Norman added proudly over a huge chunk of wyvern meat. He winked at Greg. “I stole it myself from Ruuan’s lair when I was just a few years older than you are now. Gave it to Marvin on his sixteenth birthday, and he’s been cleaning up the kingdom with it ever since.”

Greg met Lucky’s eye. “Do you think we could see that amulet, Mrs. Greatheart?”

“Call me Edna, please. Of course you can. I’ve got it right here.”

She got up from the table, shuffled to a rickety old cabinet along the opposite wall, and opened the top drawer. When she returned to the table she held out the amulet by the chain. At first glance it looked identical to the one King Peter gave Greg that morning.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

“I’m not sure.” Greg reached beneath his tunic and pulled out his own amulet, much to Edna’s surprise.

“There’s two of them?”

“Right,” said Greg. “King Peter told me
this
was the Amulet of Ruuan.”

“Nonsense,” said Norman. “Anyone can see that’s not the real one.”

“They look exactly the same to me,” said Melvin.

“Quiet, son.”

“No, he’s right,” said Lucky. “They are the same.”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust it,” Norman said. “And you sure wouldn’t catch me going up against Ruuan without the real thing.”

“Perhaps we better let him use ours,” Edna suggested.

“I suppose we’ll have to,” said Norman. “The poor boy would be scorched to a crisp in a heartbeat with a trinket like that in his hand.”

“Yeah, with the real amulet he might last two heartbeats,” said Melvin under his breath.

“Hush up, son,” warned Edna. She held out Marvin’s amulet for Greg to take. When Greg slipped the chain over his neck, the two amulets sizzled and flashed, and he jumped back, nearly knocking over his chair.

“Well, it looks as if that amulet of yours may have some power after all,” said Norman. “You go ahead and keep ours anyway. You can never have too much help on your side when you’re going up against a dragon. Hey, did I ever tell you about the first time I fought Tehrer, the last of the dragons from the Netherworld?”

“We just met,” Greg reminded him.

“So, I guess I didn’t then. Well, I’ll tell you now. It was quite a battle. I barely escaped with my life. In fact, that’s how I got this limp here,” he said pointing to his left knee. “No, wait, that came the second time I fought him. The first time he snapped my right leg in two and scorched the hair clean off my head. Took me two years to grow my eyebrows back.” He slapped the table and laughed. “Never could use the eye again, though, I’m afraid.”

“Could we talk about something else?” Greg pleaded.

“Yes, Norman, please,” Edna scolded. “You’re scaring Greghart to death with your stories.”

“What kind of dragonslayer gets scared by a story?” asked Melvin.

“I’m warning you. One more word, and it’s back to your room.”

“This is his room,” Greg muttered.

“I didn’t mean to scare you none,” said Norman. “If it makes you feel better, everything turned out great the third time I faced Tehrer. He may have tore up my back a bit and knocked my arm out of the socket, but in the end I laid him out, and the world’s a better place for it.”

“Yes, I do feel better,” Greg lied. “Now can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” said Norman. “Did I ever tell you about the time I ran into a nest of harpies up at Death’s Pass?”

Greg shot him a glare, but Norman failed to take the hint. The man shared one story after another, each more gruesome than the last, talking through the remainder of dinner and long into the night. By the time Edna finished the dishes and finally insisted they all retire, Greg was so terrified he thought it would be impossible to sleep.

But it had been a very long day. He’d spent hours hiking to the center of an Enchanted Forest, made his way back out at a dead run and fought a fifteen-foot-tall ogre that blocked the exit. In spite of his fears, his head had no more than hit the prickly straw pillow before Greg fell sound asleep. Tomorrow he would go back to being terrified over events to come, but for now he needed his rest.

After all, everyone seemed to think it wasn’t wise to go off fighting dragons without a good night’s sleep.

Greg felt as if he’d just
drifted off when a rooster crowed and the first rays of light broke through the many holes in the wall. He tried to roll away, but his muscles screamed out in agony. Greg screamed too.

“Oh, good, you’re finally up,” he heard Norman Greatheart say. “I was afraid you were going to sleep the whole day away.”

“The sun’s barely up,” moaned Greg.

“Morning, dear,” Edna crowed. “Did you want some breakfast before you head out?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Norman.

She frowned at her husband. “I was talking to Greghart. How about it, dear? It’s not a good idea to go out hunting dragons on an empty stomach, you know.”

Greg willed his legs to move, but they didn’t seem in the mood.

“Of course, you might want to put on some clothes first,” Edna added.

Somehow Greg found the strength to leap from the pallet and yank on his tunic and tights.

“That’s the spirit,” said Norman. “I pity the dragon who’s got to face this boy.”

Any spirit Greg might have possessed disappeared instantly at the mention of the dragon. He strapped on his boots and staggered to the table, feeling as if he’d left his legs back in the Enchanted Forest.

“I don’t think the dragon has anything to worry about,” noted Melvin from his seat at the table.

“Now, don’t you start this morning,” Edna warned.

Melvin shot Greg a hateful glare but shut up as he was asked. Edna served up some of the largest eggs Greg had ever seen, along with a plate of what Greg guessed to be wyvern sausages. The food was delicious, and Greg gulped it all down gratefully. He couldn’t believe how hungry he was already this morning. It seemed hunting dragons really worked up a boy’s appetite.

After breakfast Lucky gathered up his pack, and Mr. and Mrs. Greatheart saw the two boys to the door. The morning air was so brisk Greg could see his breath.

“Now, do you have your amulets, dear?” Edna asked.

Greg patted his chest and heard the two medals clink together beneath his tunic. His skin prickled from the charge, proof of the potent magic concealed there. Still, Greg felt ill-prepared for his journey. A large part of him prayed Marvin Greatheart would stroll up this very moment and offer to take over. The parts of him left over were more ambitious. They prayed for nothing less than for Greg to suddenly wake up safe in the woods behind his own house.

But Marvin did not show up, and soon it was time to go. In spite of Greg’s best efforts to resist, Edna managed to herd everyone out of the cabin and onto the front walk.

“What about your fireproofing spell?” asked Norman. “You wouldn’t want to forget that.”

Greg glanced at Lucky, who shrugged.

Norman shook his head. “You can’t go trudging up to a dragon’s lair without a fireproofing spell. Even if the dragon weren’t home, that tunnel of his is like a blast furnace. Why, you’d be incinerated in seconds. For that matter, do you have your eternal light, or your dragon spit?”

“Dragon spit?” echoed Lucky.

“To coat your shoes. Don’t you boys know nothin’ about hunting dragons?”

“This
is
rather new to us,” said Greg.

“Oh, of course, I forgot.” Norman went to take Greg under his arm, but the once mighty dragonslayer’s shoulder seized halfway. With a creak that made Greg long for an oil can, Norman wrenched his arm back to his side. “You need sticky shoes if you’re going to try walking into a dragon’s lair. The ground tends to get a bit glassy, what with the intense heat and all.”

“You’re kidding,” said Greg hopefully.

“Nope.” Norman paused to massage his shoulder with a hand that was large even with the two missing fingers. “You’re gonna need to coat your soles with something. Wyvern spit’s plenty sticky, but true

dragon spit’s the only thing that’ll take the heat. I wouldn’t recommend anything less.”

“Where does one get dragon spit?” Greg asked.

“Well, there’s plenty in Ruuan’s lair—oh, but that won’t do you much good, will it? Course, you have to pick up a fireproofing spell anyway. You can probably get everything you need from Hazel.”

“Who?” said Greg.

“The witch.”

“Witch Hazel?”

“Yeah,” chimed in Melvin. “You’re not afraid of a witch, are you?”

Greg ignored the boy’s taunting and looked to Norman. “Should I be?”

The man stared back with his one good eye. “Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

The Molten Moor

While Lucky discussed directions to Witch Hazel’s place with Norman, Greg waited impatiently on the stoop, debating with himself whether he should bolt into the woods. As scared as he was, he figured he could probably run a mile or so before anyone noticed. Farther if he didn’t get eaten by an ogre.

“Okay, we’re ready to go,” Lucky finally announced.

“You sure?” said Greg. “I’ll bet Mrs. Greatheart’s planning to fix something delicious for lunch.”

“Oh, what a delightful sense of humor,” said Edna. “I hope the bards pick up on that and include it in their songs.”

In spite of his best efforts to stall, Greg found himself following Lucky’s lead and saying his final good-byes to the Greathearts. He ducked his head against the chill and left the family waving on the doorstep of their humble home, which might have been a comforting picture had Melvin not chosen to wave with his thumbs planted in his ears.

After the first few steps, Greg could hardly believe how sore his first day of adventure had left him. Of course his legs were tired, but even his arms ached, as if he’d crossed the Enchanted Forest on his hands yesterday. Whenever he turned his head, his neck creaked like a wooden rollercoaster struggling up its initial climb, not unlike Norman Greatheart’s had done at breakfast this morning. Still, it didn’t stop him from scanning the woods.

“Looking for something?” Lucky asked.

“What? Oh, no. I just . . . um . . . thought maybe we’d run into Marvin Greatheart.”

“Didn’t you hear? His parents said he was off near Durchester. Now, stop worrying.”

“How can you still be so calm after what happened yesterday?”

Lucky regarded Greg with a furrowed brow. “What happened yesterday?”

“The ogre, remember? You said the paths would open up for one of two reasons: because another traveler entered the forest, or to lead us to danger.”

“So you have been listening to me.”

“Don’t you see?” said Greg. “The path opened toward danger. We had a fifty-fifty shot, and it turned out wrong. What kind of luck is that?”

“The path got us out of the forest, didn’t it?”

Greg stared at Lucky in disbelief. “It led us to an ogre. We were almost killed.”

“Almost,” Lucky pointed out smugly. “You might say we’re lucky to be alive.”

“Wait, what about when the ogre knocked away my sword and pinned you to that tree? You couldn’t budge an inch, remember? You were totally helpless.”