How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  Princess Priscilla carried a pack similar to Lucky’s, only half as big. From it she pulled a full-size goose-down mattress, which she laid out on the ground next to Greg’s tiny bedroll, but before turning in, the boys looked to Nathan for their usual chikan lesson.

  “I want to join in, too,” Priscilla said. She hunted out a suitable walking stick, and amazed Greg when she challenged him to a friendly sparring match, then promptly disarmed him and pinned him flat on his back.

  Nathan grinned approvingly. “Maybe we should let you tackle Ruuan after all, Princess.”

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Greg said, struggling to his feet.

  “Dad taught me,” she told him. “Being a princess isn’t all white lace and satin, you know. I have to be able to protect myself.”

  Greg rubbed his elbow where his arm struck the ground. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble.”

  Nathan turned the night’s lesson over to Priscilla, who shared tips that, when combined with all Nathan had taught about breathing and concentration (which turned out not to be nonsense after all), helped Greg greatly improve his chikan skills. Soon Greg could best both Lucky and Priscilla in every sparring contest. Give him a stick and a moment to compose himself, and he felt he could defeat any opponent. Then he remembered the type of opponents Myrth had to offer.

  Priscilla interrupted his thoughts. “Greg, can I talk to you about something?”

  He stared at her, his stick hovering in midair.

  “In private.”

  Greg lowered his stick. “Sure.”

  The two left Nathan and Lucky to practice and moved to the spot where the bedrolls were laid out. Greg looked to Priscilla expectantly.

  “It’s about what you were saying at Simon’s,” she said, “about prophecies never being wrong.”

  “I thought we settled that. This is going to be the first.”

  “No, it won’t.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  Priscilla glanced over at Nathan and Lucky and back again. “Yes, I can.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “If anything, this would be the second.”

  Greg’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying?”

  She looked at him sternly. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny everything.”

  Greg lowered his voice, too. “Tell me what you know.”

  “When my father received word of the prophecy from Simon, Mother started acting weird.” She grinned slightly. “That’s usually Dad’s department. I knew right away something was wrong, so I hounded her to tell me what it was.”

  “What did she say?”

  “To mind my own business.”

  “Everything okay over there?” Nathan called out.

  “We’re fine,” Greg said, feeling anything but. He fixed Priscilla with a stare. “So, what do you know?”

  “I don’t think Mother would have ever told me, but each day closer to your arrival she grew more and more worried about Penelope. She’s been putting on a brave face for Dad, but I think she finally needed someone to confide in.”

  “And she told you about another prophecy?”

  “No.” Priscilla looked at the others again. “I mean yes. Sort of. She didn’t tell me anything about it, just that she thinks there was a prophecy that didn’t come true. Apparently there was some big cover-up. I don’t think many people know about it. Not even Daddy.” Priscilla quieted. “Greg, are you okay?”

  Greg swallowed hard. “Since I’ve been here, I was sure that everyone on Myrth was crazy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But there’s always been this one chance, however small, that they were right and I was the crazy one.” His voice barely escaped his throat. “Now even that small chance is gone.”

  Priscilla shrugged. “Well, at least you’re not crazy.”

  Greg found it impossible to sleep. He slipped away from the others and used the eternal torch to light a second length of wood, which he planted in the ground so he could free up his hands to write in his journal. He had intended the book to last only one summer, and while that in itself had required him to use small print, the number of bizarre experiences he had been recording since he arrived in Myrth had required him to achieve a new mastery of tiny penmanship.

  Priscilla must have been having trouble sleeping too. She walked up behind him and spoke, nearly causing him to scream. “What are you doing?”

  “Writing about my adventure,” Greg said. “It helps me relax.” He noticed his hand trembling. “Usually.”

  “You know how to write?” she asked, amazed.

  “Well, sure,” Greg said. “Don’t you?”

  “Of course I do,” Priscilla said indignantly. “But I’m royalty. Most . . . common folk never learn.”

  “Most?”

  “Well, a few do. Like my father’s scribe, Brandon.”

  “Not very well, according to Lucky.”

  Priscilla frowned. “He’s not that bad when he’s not drinking. Oh no.” Her face reddened in the cutest way. “He wasn’t drunk when you met him, was he?”

  “I didn’t,” said Greg. “Meet him, I mean.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Normally Dad doesn’t allow it, but he really has gone overboard on this whole Greghart thing. It’s really embarrassing.”

  “What is?”

  “My dad—he’s usually not so—what I mean is, he’s quite smart. I don’t know why he can’t see the prophecy is wrong. I knew as soon as I heard. It’s so obvious.” She stared at Greg with an odd expression.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked her.

  “We need to get back to the castle so we can send you home.”

  “If you’re waiting for me to disagree, we could be here a while.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” He exhaled deeply. “But first I have a plan to save your sister.”

  Priscilla’s face brightened. “You do?”

  “All we have to do is make sure Ruuan never gets hold of her,” Greg explained.

  Priscilla looked skeptical. “How would we do that?”

  “Easy. We hide her. Ruuan can’t take her if he can’t find her.”

  Priscilla frowned. “No. People around here take this prophecy stuff pretty seriously. We can’t interfere.”

  “What?” Greg practically shouted. “But you know the prophecy isn’t true.”

  “Of course not, but that doesn’t mean we can go around changing it.”

  “Wait, you were the one talking about running off to fight Ruuan yourself.”

  “That’s different. Once we’re away from the castle no one will know what we do. As long as we bring Penelope back, we can tell people whatever we want. They’ll have no reason to doubt us.”

  “How about this, then?” Greg said. “We go to the castle, hide Penelope and tell everyone Ruuan took her. We can still go off for a while and pretend to rescue her. No one else has to be the wiser.”

  Priscilla grinned, and it struck Greg how pretty she was. “I like the way you think,” she said. “You know, that could just work.” But then her smile disappeared.

  “What’s wrong?” Greg said.

  “How do we get them to go along with it?” she said, indicating the sleeping forms of Lucky and Nathan wrapped up tight in their bedding and flower petals, respectively.

  “I know,” said Greg. “We’ll tell them you’ve come to your senses and decided to return home. Then they’ll have to see you safely back to the castle. After all, what’s the point of us saving one princess if we lose another in the process?”

  Priscilla shook her head. “No, they know I can handle myself. Besides, Lucky and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. I doubt he’s ever seen me change my mind about anything. He’d never believe I’d change it about this.”

  “Wait, that’s it.”

  “What is?”

  “You’re stubborn, right?”

  She scowled.

&n
bsp; “And you’re a princess, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you tell them you want to go back, and if that doesn’t work, you order them.”

  Fey Field

  “EEEEE!”

  Greg burst awake and jumped to his feet. “What’s going on? Who screamed?”

  “Get it off! GET IT OFF!” Priscilla thrashed about on her mattress, punching and kicking an invisible foe.

  Lucky and Nathan both jumped awake and rushed to her side.

  “What is it, Princess?” said Nathan.

  “Yeah, what’s up, Prissy?” Lucky asked.

  Priscilla paused in her contortions long enough to scowl. “Sasha.”

  Greg was about to offer a hand when Rake jumped up and landed delicately on his shoulder.

  “Eeeee!” Priscilla screamed. “There it is again.”

  She snatched up Greg’s walking stick and leapt to her feet, the stick poised over her head to strike. Nathan shot out a hand so quickly Greg nearly missed the movement. An instant later he held Greg’s stick at his side.

  “Is that what all the fuss is about?” he said. “The shadowcat?”

  Priscilla blushed. “Sorry, I thought it was a rat.”

  Rake raised his fur and hissed defiantly from the safety of Greg’s shoulders. His long tail flittered around nervously, beating Greg about the eyes.

  “This is Rake,” Greg explained. “He’s my . . . pet.”

  “Don’t be silly. Shadowcats can’t be pets. They don’t like people.”

  “Well, he seems to like me,” Greg said, pointing a thumb at his own chest. The movement caused Rake to lose his balance and dig his claws into Greg’s neck, causing Greg to scream.

  “Yeah, I can tell,” said Priscilla. She studied Rake a moment. “He is kind of cute though, isn’t he?”

  At this, Rake’s mood softened, and he allowed the princess to scratch behind his ears and stroke his soft fur. Only then did Greg notice the cold. Lucky obviously felt it too, and searched his pack for heavier garments. Though grateful, Greg couldn’t help but feel disappointed when Lucky pulled out a bright orange cloak for himself and a drab gray one for Greg. Priscilla checked her pack and found a luxurious reddish-orange fur coat fit for a princess. Sure it was pretty, and no doubt quite warm, but Greg didn’t like her wearing it. Every time he saw her out of the corner of his eye he thought another bollywomp had snuck up behind him.

  After a hearty breakfast of wyvern sausages and fried potatoes, Priscilla tried to convince the others she’d changed her mind and wanted to return to Pendegrass Castle, but as expected, Lucky knew her far too well.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” he demanded.

  “What do you mean?” Priscilla asked innocently.

  “Look, I’ve known you long enough to know you’d die trying before you ever gave up on anything. And then I question if death would only slow you down a bit.”

  “But Greg needs to get to the castle,” she said, stomping her feet.

  Lucky looked as if she’d truly surprised him. “What on Myrth for?”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you guys said yesterday, about Greg going to see Simon to learn all he could about the prophecy. I mean, let’s face facts. Does he really look like someone who could slay Ruuan without a trick up his sleeve?”

  Greg stopped searching for his hand within the sleeve of the huge cloak Lucky just gave him. “I heard that.”

  “Look, if Greg does survive this thing,” Priscilla continued, “it may all hinge on something he has yet to learn. He needs to know all the facts so he can be ready.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Lucky. “This is Greg’s destiny. Don’t you see? He can’t fail no matter what he does.”

  Nathan, who had been working at shoving Priscilla’s mattress back into her tiny pack while she less than patiently held it open for him, paused. “No, see, that’s the kind of thinking that will get Greg killed. The only reason prophecies have been fulfilled in the past is because the special men and women who fulfill them aren’t the type to go strolling unprepared into the jaws of an awaiting dragon.”

  Greg listened helplessly while the others argued his fate. Why didn’t Priscilla just order them to the castle? Too bad he couldn’t tell them the real reason he wanted to go back. But they would just say he was crazy even considering changing the prophecy.

  “See?” Priscilla said to Lucky. She gave Nathan a scolding look as if to indicate her arms were tired, even though the magic of her pack hid the weight of its contents. “I told you we have to go back.”

  But Nathan shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea either. I’ve been thinking more and more about this ever since our meeting with Simon. It’s never wise to learn too much about one’s own future. Just knowing he’s supposed to succeed may cause Greg to become overconfident and overlook some important detail when he faces Ruuan.”

  “I doubt overconfidence will be a problem,” Greg mumbled.

  “The fact he even knows as little as he does may have already hurt him,” Nathan went on.

  Greg replayed the words in his head, trying to determine if he’d been insulted.

  “But seeing the prophecy isn’t going to hurt him,” argued Priscilla. “It’s not like it’s a secret or anything. Everybody knows all about it.”

  With one final heave Nathan managed to squeeze the mattress past the rim of the pack, where it popped out of sight without so much as a bulge. Matching Priscilla’s scolding look, he said, “Everybody except you, I guess you mean.”

  “Only because I didn’t pay attention when Dad told it to me.”

  “You know about it,” Greg challenged Nathan.

  “Just bits and pieces, as I’ve told you before. Perhaps it is best that I don’t know all. More importantly, it’s best that you don’t know. There may be a predestined reason. After all, it seems odd your efforts to learn about it so far have failed so miserably.”

  Greg thought about how little he knew of the actual prophecy. Even the song that Bart, the traveling bard, had sung at the outset of his journey had been interrupted after only two verses. Suddenly he remembered something Bart mentioned on the castle lawn.

  Who would have thought the Army of the Crown would allow themselves to be led by one so young?

  “I’ve got it.”

  The others regarded him curiously.

  “What is it, Greg?” said Nathan.

  “There was this guy, Bart, back at Pendegrass Castle. He told me something just before we entered the Enchanted Forest.”

  “Yeah, the Ballad of Greghart,” said Lucky. “Decapitation . . . incineration. I love that song.”

  Greg forced a chuckle. “No, before that. He said I was going to lead the Army of the Crown.”

  “That should be fun,” said Lucky.

  “No, don’t you see?” said Greg.

  “See what?”

  “Exactly.” Greg made a show of glancing about the trail. “Where’s the army?”

  “Oh, right. Back at Pendegrass Castle.”

  “Hold on,” said Nathan. “What’s this about, Lucky? Who’s Bart?”

  “A bard. He travels about the kingdom singing songs of heroes and great tales of adventure.”

  “Yes, I know what a bard is.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, he’s got loads of songs about Greg. He sang my favorite to us just before we left. The chorus is great. ‘Oh, Greghart was his name, dragon slaying his game, and he didn’t fear a thing on this Myrth. He’d face any sensation, laugh at decapitation—’”

  “That’s okay, he doesn’t want to hear it,” Greg said, gazing pleadingly at Nathan. “Bart did say I would lead the Army of the Crown, though.”

  Nathan shrugged. “So? It’s just a song, not the prophecy.”

  “Maybe not,” said Lucky, “but Bart’s songs are always based in fact. He told me he only writes them before events actually take place because of something he calls ‘market timing.’ Greg’s really big news right now,
but Bart says once the prophecy is fulfilled the demand is sure to fade away.”

  Nathan stroked his chin. “Perhaps we should return to the castle. After all, Greg ought to be the one making decisions about his own destiny.”

  “Finally,” said Greg. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”

  “Well, now you’re in charge,” Nathan said. “Go ahead. Lead the way.”

  “But . . . I don’t know how to get back to the castle.”

  Nathan grew pensive. “Hmm, maybe we shouldn’t be going there . . . .”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, I’ll help him,” said Priscilla. “Who knows? That may be his destiny too.”

  The day was turning warm, so Greg removed the heavy cloak Lucky gave him and stowed it in Lucky’s pack. He was glad when Priscilla did the same. As often as he’d seen her in her fur coat, she still resembled a bollywomp.

  They were looking for a good spot to break. Ahead stood a distinctive old oak with a twisted trunk that looked to have been struck by lightning years before. When Priscilla saw it she let out a squeal, rushed forward, and hugged the tree around its trunk. “Fey Field! I love this spot. It’s so beautiful.”

  The others moved up to join her, with Rake weaving in and out between Greg’s ankles as he tried to walk. Lucky took a long drink from a water sack he pulled from his pack.

  “What’s so beautiful about it?” he said. “All I see is some ol’ dead tree.”

  “Not the tree, silly, the field.”

  “What field?”

  “Lucky Day, are you telling me you’ve never seen Fey Field?”

  Lucky stared blankly back at her.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” said Priscilla. “Come on!”

  She rushed past Lucky and up a steep incline, stopped at the top, panting, and motioned for the others to follow. Rake bounded after her, his long tail flitting this way and that. Greg looked at Lucky, who in turn looked to Nathan, and each shrugged and traipsed up the bank as well.

  The view from the top caused Greg’s mouth to drop. Framed by a line of jagged purple mountains lay a sea of rolling hills blanketed in reddish grain that stretched for miles into the distance. Here and there small gusts of wind caught the grain and exposed the underside of the tips, sending swipes of peacock blue streaking across the vast field. If the scene had ended there it would have been simply heart-stopping, but add in the infinitely tall spire rising from its center and it not only threatened to stop Greg’s heart, but to tear it from his chest and gulp it down in a single bite.