How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  He also noticed the man’s stick was not a branch but a staff, pale ash in color and worn smooth over time, like a piece of floating driftwood.

  “That’s rare,” the man said.

  “What is?” Greg said, as a tail flipped up and hit him in the nose.

  “Shadowcats seldom tolerate humans at all, let alone befriend them. Name’s Nathaniel Caine, by the way. Friends call me Nathan.”

  “Luke Day,” said Lucky, extending his hand. “My friends call me Lucky.”

  Nathan smiled and shook Lucky’s hand, then looked back to Greg.

  “Oh,” Greg said. “Greg Hart. People call me . . . well, around here, Greghart.”

  Nathan’s smile broadened. “The Greghart? From the prophecy?”

  “You’ve heard of me too?” Greg had hoped his reputation might have at least escaped the notice of someone stuck alone in the middle of a sea of lava, days from civilization. The shadowcat risked a curious glance at Greg’s face, chattered nervously, and ducked behind his neck again.

  “Of course,” said Nathan. “Everyone’s heard of the Mighty Greghart. Right now you’re about the most famous man in all of Myrth.”

  “Boy, you mean. I’m just a boy.”

  “Nonsense,” said Nathan. “Would a mere boy be capable of slaying a dragon?”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

  Nathan offered a sympathetic look. “Ah. Having a few doubts about your role in upcoming events, are you?”

  Greg felt his stomach turn. “Don’t worry. Everyone’s been telling me how dangerous it is to doubt a prophecy, and that I have nothing to worry about.”

  Nathan’s expression flickered.

  “What?” asked Greg.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . . a little worry isn’t always a bad thing.” He looked up at the position of the sun. “It was nice meeting you boys. It’s time I moved on.”

  “Wait, what did you mean, about worry not being such a bad thing?”

  “Forgive me. I shouldn’t be adding to your fears. I’m sure King Peter has prepared you well for your meeting with the dragon.”

  “Prepared me well? No one has told me any—”

  Nathan turned as if to leave. “Fare well, young Greghart.”

  “No, don’t go!”

  Nathan paused. Lucky stared at Greg questioningly.

  “Come with us instead.” Greg told Nathan. “I’d like to hear what you know of the prophecy.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Which way are you boys headed?”

  Greg was almost afraid to say. “Toward Witch Hazel’s?”

  Again Nathan’s expression flickered, but to Greg’s surprise he said, “Perhaps I could join you. After all, one direction is just as good as the next.”

  Lucky cleared his throat. “Well, whether you come or not, we should probably go soon.” The lava had crept its way over within six inches of his boot. He was right. This was no time to talk.

  “Stick close to Lucky, Mr. Caine,” Greg said. “He has a knack for hopping between paths just in the nick of time.”

  “You don’t need a knack to avoid the lava, Greghart,” said Nathan. “You just need to pay attention.” He pointed with his staff at one of the pools. “Watch the surface closely. You’ll notice it bubbles just before it erupts.”

  Greg’s jaw fell slack. “You mean we haven’t just been lucky until now?”

  Nathan chuckled. “No one could be that lucky.”

  “Say, what happened to your shadowcat?” Nathan asked Greg. After playing the most terrifying game of hopscotch Greg could imagine, he and the boys had finally reached the far bank of the Molten Moor.

  Greg noticed the animal no longer resting on his shoulders. More accurately, he didn’t notice it. He whipped around and scanned the surface of the lava, but then something stirred under his arm and either he or the creature let out a small squeal.

  “He’s here,” Greg gasped, “under my tunic. Do you want him?”

  “No,” said Nathan, “you keep him. He seems to have taken a fancy to you.”

  “Really, I don’t mind.” The shadowcat crawled up to Greg’s shoulder and rubbed its soft cheek against his ear. Greg fought hard to ignore the sensation.

  “Would you look at that?” said Lucky. He was staring at the forest ahead.

  Until now Greg had been too concerned with surviving the moor to notice what lay beyond a few feet, but now he looked at the woods ahead and felt no more at ease than before. A sea of molten rock boiled just feet away, yet the land here felt colder and less alive than the dying woods on the other side of the moor. Scattered tree trunks, charred and twisted, reached soullessly toward a gray, cloudless sky. Not a sound could be heard. Not a branch stirred, not even of its own accord.

  Farther to the south the sky darkened. Please be a storm, Greg thought, but he knew not a drop of rain was held there. The blackness emanated from something far worse. It was somehow related to the witch, and Greg knew he was already closer to it than he ever wanted to be. Then again, so was his living room sofa back home.

  “Nathan,” he croaked, “you wouldn’t know where we might get our hands on some dragon spit, would you?”

  “You don’t want to get your hands anywhere near dragon spit,” Nathan told him. “It would eat right through your skin like acid.”

  “That settles it,” said Greg. “We have to turn back.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Lucky.

  “Maybe we don’t need a fireproofing spell or dragon spit,” said Greg. “How about we just wait outside the dragon’s lair for Ruuan to come out?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Even if you did slay the dragon outside his lair, we’d have to go inside to rescue the princess.”

  “You sure? Don’t you think she’d come out on her own eventually? I know I would. How about you, Nathan?”

  Nathan looked quite uncomfortable at being asked his opinion. “I think you should do whatever you think best, Greghart . . . but if I were you I wouldn’t expect Ruuan to come out to find me. Oh, and you wouldn’t catch me traipsing into a dragon’s lair without a few things I imagine only the witch can provide.”

  Greg stared at the man’s face, questioning whether it was really as friendly as he first thought. “What were you doing out in the Molten Moor, anyway?”

  “I was rescuing that little shadowcat, remember?”

  “I meant what were you doing in the moor to begin with?”

  “Oh,” said Nathan. “Traveling. It’s what I do.” Again he looked to the sky. “Perhaps we can discuss it later. Night will be here sooner than you think, and it is a long walk to Witch Hazel’s.”

  Greg had to admit it did seem to be getting darker. He followed Lucky and Nathan southward to a decrepit footbridge that spanned a narrow stream of very black water. What few trees he could see ahead were more twisted and mangled than anything he’d passed so far, a significant accomplishment in Greg’s opinion, but most of the terrain was covered with scraggly thorn bushes, charred black by some ageless fire. Not a leaf could be found among them, yet somehow they managed to rustle as if home to a thousand monkeydogs.

  “The Shrieking Scrub,” Nathan announced. “Well, this is where we must part company.”

  “You’re leaving?” said Greg.

  “No, you are. Only those having business with the witch may pass over Black Blood Creek.”

  “Over what?”

  “Don’t worry. Mostly it’s not real blood.”

  Greg strained to see the water below. “I-I can’t cross alone,” he said. “I don’t know where to go.”

  “You won’t need to,” said Nathan in a manner that completely failed to sound reassuring. “The trail leads directly to the witch’s shack.”

  “You’ve been to Hazel’s?” Lucky asked.

  “She lives straight down that trail.”

  Greg couldn’t bear the thought of separating from the others under any circumstance, let alone to go off looking for a witch—especially a wit
ch who could best be described as non-threatening, and then only if she liked you.

  “Say, I think you were right about night not being far off,” he said. “Maybe we should think about setting up camp.”

  “It always looks like this near the Shrieking Scrub,” said Nathan, “but it’ll turn even darker soon. You’ll want to get moving right away so you can be back before nightfall. I wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the Shrieking Scrub after dark, and that’s exactly what will happen if you delay much longer.”

  “B-but what about dinner?” Greg asked. He actually didn’t think he could eat a bite, but he would certainly be willing to try.

  To his relief Lucky said, “I’m hungry too. Maybe we should eat now and camp for the night. Then Greg can get a fresh start to Hazel’s first thing in the morning.”

  Greg was quick to agree. “It’s not wise to talk to witches without a good night’s rest,” he guessed.

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Nathan. He looked around at the lifeless surroundings. “But what do we do for dinner?”

  Lucky pulled his special pack from his shoulder and offered his trademark grin. “Leave that to me. I think I saw something good in here earlier.”

  After dinner they looked for a comfortable place to camp for the night. The best they could find was a shallow depression half concealed by the charred remains of a fallen tree. The ground was smoking in the area, which Greg took to be a bad sign, but Lucky assured him it would be fine. Of course, Greg knew Lucky was only assuming things would work out because of the prophecy, but Nathan, too, said the spot was okay, so Greg was outnumbered two to one.

  While Lucky rolled out bedding for Greg and himself, Nathan simply settled on the hard ground, closed his eyes, and dropped off in an instant, oblivious of the cold. The shadowcat draped itself across Greg’s neck, just below his chin, and once Greg decided the creature wasn’t trying to strangle him, he was grateful for the warmth it provided. Darkness fell quickly, as if someone had flipped a switch, shutting off even the light from the moon. All was quiet for a time, until an ear-piercing scream suddenly split the air.

  Greg bolted upright and screamed nearly as loudly.

  “That’s why they call it the Shrieking Scrub,” Lucky informed him. “Don’t worry. It can’t hurt us here.”

  “Uh-huh,” Greg said, easing back to the ground. He lay awake, waiting for his pulse to slow for a minute or so before another scream rang out and caused him to jump up again. Nearby Lucky was already snoring loudly. No doubt he and Nathan were unconcerned about their plight, secure in the knowledge that the prophecy would carry them through any peril the Shrieking Scrub might offer.

  But when Greg rolled over between shrieks, crackling some twigs beneath his bedroll, Nathan snapped awake. “That you, Greghart?” he heard Nathan say through the darkness.

  Although he knew Nathan was trying to be helpful, Greg found the disembodied voice nearly as unnerving as the shrieks. Still it would have been hard for him to feel less comfortable than he already did. “Do you have to call me that? It’s Greg.”

  “What’s the problem? Can’t sleep?”

  “I guess I’m a little nervous about going to see the witch.”

  “Ah, and well you should be.”

  Greg frowned. Nathan had a lot to learn about putting someone at ease.

  “Hazel is a very powerful woman,” Nathan continued. “I doubt you’ll ever face a more dangerous opponent.”

  Greg searched for a glimpse of Nathan’s face but could see only darkness. “Um, when did she become my opponent?”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. But you would be wise to use caution when you deal with her. She’s sure to try to deceive you.”

  “But why?”

  “She’s a witch.”

  Somehow the blackness found a way to press harder against Greg’s eyes. “So, what should I do?”

  “The only thing you can, Greg. Go along with her. It’s not wise to disagree with someone who wields that much power.”

  Greg decided Nathan wasn’t any better at counseling than he was at consoling. “What kind of advice is that?”

  “Advice that may just save your life. Now, get to sleep. You’ll want to be fresh in the morning.”

  “Yes, of course,” Greg grumbled. “Wouldn’t want to be tired when I’m killed by the witch.” He closed his eyes then, not that it was any less black with them open, and tried again to sleep. If Nathan had thought to be reassuring, he’d fallen well short of the mark. Greg lay awake for nearly an hour longer, long enough to count thirty-eight more blood-curdling screams.

  Thirty-nine.

  Surely he’d have stayed up all night if not for the shadowcat snuggled up under his chin. But once his new pet started to purr, the soft, rumbling sound worked its way into Greg’s head and drained the energy from him. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have stayed alert then. As proof, the shadowcat flipped its tail into Greg’s mouth, and though Greg coughed and sputtered, he never once opened his eyes. In spite of the random shrieks, in spite of a continuous series of nightmares that threatened to shock him awake at any moment, Greg slept the night through, waking only after the sun had filled the forest with a welcome light. Even if it was a gray and dismal light.

  Morning had arrived, and it was time for Greg to search out the witch.

  Witch Hazel

  Greg quickly shut his eyes again. Hopefully no one had noticed him awake. He could smell meat frying, which led him to believe Lucky must be rooting around in his pack, and he was hungry enough to eat anything in that pack including, possibly, Lucky’s arm, but he didn’t dare move. Once the others realized he was awake, they’d expect him to go out in search of Hazel.

  “Oh, good, you’re up.”

  Greg groaned. He swore he hadn’t moved. He opened his eyes to see Nathan’s face beaming down at him.

  “I hope you’re well rested,” Nathan said. “It’s going to be a long day.”

  Lucky stopped digging in his pack and asked, “How would you like your eggs, Greg?”

  “At home?”

  “Still got your sense of humor. That’s good. You’ll probably need it.”

  Greg ate breakfast as slowly as he could and continued long after he was full, but in spite of his best efforts eventually finished everything Lucky put before him. Lucky had long since rolled up Greg’s bedding and stuffed it into his pack. He stood now next to Nathan, the two of them hovering impatiently over Greg.

  “Ready?” Nathan asked.

  “Not really.”

  Nathan offered a hand. Greg pretended not to notice. Nathan didn’t notice him not noticing. He grasped Greg’s tunic and easily lifted Greg to his feet.

  “Now, you know what you need?” asked Lucky.

  “I think so,” Greg said, pressing the wrinkles from his tunic. “Let’s see. There’s dragon spit, an eternal light . . . oh, yeah, and a fireproofing spell.”

  “I want you to take this with you,” Nathan said, holding out his weathered staff. “Be careful with it, though. I want it back in one piece when you return.”

  Greg took the proffered staff and held it out at arm’s length. “What is it?”

  “A stick,” said Nathan.

  “I can see that. I mean what does it do?”

  “It doesn’t do anything. You just hold it while you walk. It helps you balance and hop over puddles and things.”

  “Really, Greg,” said Lucky. “Haven’t you ever used a walking stick before?”

  Greg frowned back at him.

  “I guess we’re ready then,” said Nathan.

  “We?” said Greg.

  “Well, you.”

  Lucky stepped behind Greg and nudged him forward in the same annoying way the Enchanted Forest had done two days ago. Greg tried to slink away, but Nathan stepped up from his other side and pressed forward as well, leaving Greg no choice but to shuffle toward the dilapidated footbridge, where he stopped just short of the rotted wood.

 
A sudden rustling sounded in the forest. Anywhere else on Myrth it would have been perfectly at home, but here it stuck out like a—well, like a rustling in an otherwise deathly quiet forest. Greg witnessed little more than a blur before something with far too many flailing legs hit him in the chest. The shadowcat scrambled up his tunic and came to rest on his shoulders.

  “What about your amulets?” Nathan asked.

  Greg patted his chest, somewhat relieved to feel the outline of the two amulets beneath his tunic. Then a thought struck him. “Who told you about these?” He could almost swear Nathan stiffened.

  “It’s all in the prophecy, Greg. You’re going to use Ruuan’s own amulet to defeat him.”

  “But you said amulets, as in more than one. How’d you know I had two?”

  “Did I?” said Nathan. “Must have been a slip of the tongue.”

  Greg studied the man’s face. How much did he really know about this stranger? He’d never met anyone in a lava swamp before. No telling what sort hung out there. But Nathan’s smile was so genuine, Greg couldn’t feel anything but trust. He truly believed the man wanted to help, even if Nathan wasn’t being completely up front about all he knew or why he was here.

  As if to confirm Greg’s thoughts, Nathan offered a serious look. “Remember all I have told you. Your fate will lie in the decisions you make.”

  Greg peered cautiously at the narrow stream below. At least it could have had the decency to make gentle rippling noises, the way streams were supposed to do. Instead the water lay still and stagnant, and Greg had spent enough time conjuring stories to imagine what terrors lurked beneath its surface. He stared at the bridge, then at Nathan, Lucky, and back to the bridge again. The shadowcat screeched and dove under his tunic.

  “Don’t forget to use the stick,” advised Nathan.

  Greg studied the staff in his hands. With a heavy sigh he eased a foot onto the bridge. The wood creaked and groaned but supported his weight. He took another step, then another. Still the bridge held.

  Greg breathed deeply and turned back to offer the others a thumbs up. Considering how his week had been going, he was barely surprised when a resounding crack rent the unnatural silence of the woods, and the bridge crumpled like a house of cards.