How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  Bart was not as upset by the news as Greg would have liked. In fact, the bard hadn’t stopped smiling. “Oh, sorry, Greghart. It’s a terrible thing that someone’s out to get you, but—well, think of the songs.”

  “Bart,” Priscilla scolded. “That’s a bit callous, don’t you think?”

  “I said it was a terrible thing.” He reached up and wiped the grin off his own face.

  “Are you sure he’s not out to kill me?” Greg asked.

  “You don’t have to worry about Bart,” Priscilla assured him. “He’s been like an uncle to me. Even Father trusts him to carry messages for the crown from time to time.”

  Greg eyed the bard suspiciously. “If you say so.” He made a mental note to keep his distance from the bard, just in case. But then Rake strolled up and rubbed affectionately against Bart’s shins. Greg didn’t know why, but he was sure Rake would know if Bart meant him harm.

  At least he adamantly hoped so.

  “Say, would you all mind if I tagged along with you a while?” asked Bart.

  “Sure,” Lucky shrugged. “Why not?”

  Because he might be trying to kill me, Greg thought.

  Rake rolled over on his back so Bart could scratch his stomach.

  “Oh, excellent,” Bart said. “Think how much better my songs will be if I get to know Greghart personally.”

  “Do you have any new songs, Bart?” asked Priscilla.

  “Of course. I haven’t seen you in a shadowcat’s age. Why, you’ve probably not even heard my Ballad of Greghart.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Priscilla. “How does it go?”

  Bart smiled and raised his lute as if about to play.

  “Wait!” said Greg. “Isn’t that the one about decapitation and incineration?”

  Bart’s smile widened. “I’m flattered you remembered.”

  “Don’t you have anything else?”

  “Oh . . . ” Bart said uncertainly, “um, sure. Well, here’s one I think you’ll enjoy.” He put his hand to the lute, strummed the instrument once and allowed the tone to die away to nothing, then he burst into song.

  For all who knew the dragon Ruuan,

  It’s so hard to believe

  A boy alone would raid his home,

  A princess to retrieve.

  The beast be there to guard its lair

  Within the glowing spire,

  And the boy would be toast, when the dragon roast-

  -ed him with his scorching fire.

  O’—

  “Stop!” Greg shouted.

  “What’s wrong, Greghart?” asked Bart.

  “We don’t have time for this. I say break’s over.” Under his breath he added, “I’m about as relaxed as I’m going to get.”

  “We’re here!” Priscilla announced.

  It had been a long day. Already the sun dipped low in the sky. Priscilla pointed to her left, where two streaks of mud split the weeds bordering the forest. “The castle is just a few miles down Pendegrass Highway.”

  Greg hurried in the direction she pointed. Before long they passed a small group of people traveling in the opposite direction, a well-dressed couple and their three daughters. When the girls spotted Greg their eyes bugged out, and they whispered and giggled excitedly.

  “Lovely evening, don’t you think?” Lucky said as Greg’s group rushed past. The wife smiled, and the husband took off his cap and bowed stiffly, but Greg and the others were already gone.

  A short way farther a second family passed, another couple and their two small boys. Again Lucky greeted them. The boys pointed and screamed Greg’s name, each shouldering the other out of the way to get a better look. Even the parents grew flustered, gawking not only at Greg but at Priscilla as well, as if not in the habit of meeting royalty. But neither party stopped. As rushed as Greg’s group was, the family seemed just as eager to be on their way, continuing their hike in the middle of nowhere toward what Greg could only guess must be the other side of nowhere.

  The closer they got to Pendegrass Castle, the more families they passed. Everyone knew Lucky, and many were impressed at seeing Priscilla, but the obvious attraction of the day was Greg himself. After the celebration King Peter prepared for his arrival, Greg was not overly shocked by the interest, but one thing did strike him as odd. Not one person seemed overly surprised to see him back from his quest. It was almost as if they expected him to be here.

  “How does it feel to be a hero?” Lucky asked Greg after one woman nearly fainted at the sight of him.

  Greg didn’t dignify the question with an answer. “Why isn’t anyone shocked I’m back?”

  “Because it’s all in the prophecy,” said Bart. “Let’s see, how does it go? ‘The Mighty Greghart will brave the fires of the Molten Moor, risk decapitation within Wiccan Wood, and narrowly avoid being crushed by the creatures of Fey Field, only to arrive too late to prevent the princess from being taken.’”

  “You can recite the prophecy?” Greg asked.

  “Of course,” boasted Bart. “Better than anyone . . . well, almost anyone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bart puffed out his chest proudly. “I delivered the word straight from Simon Sezxqrthm’s wife to King Peter’s scribe so it could be officially recorded.”

  “You delivered the prophecy?” Greg said. “You’re kidding?”

  “This is great, Greg,” said Lucky. “Now Bart can tell us everything we want to know. We don’t even need to go to the castle.”

  We do if we want to hide Penelope!

  Greg looked to Priscilla for support.

  “Shouldn’t we still go see the written version?” she tried. “Bart might not remember everything. I mean, it was a long time ago, right?”

  “Nonsense,” said Bart. “I remember like it was yesterday. Why, I could recite every word.”

  “Not so fast,” said Nathan, and Greg’s hopes lifted. But then Nathan said, “I’m still not sure it’s a good idea for Greg to know too much about his future.”

  “We were coming back to read about it anyway,” Greg argued.

  Lucky held a hand to his chin. “Maybe having Bart tell us everything without having to go all the way home is how we save enough time to reach the lair before Ruuan eats Penelope.”

  Nathan pondered the idea while Greg restrained himself from screaming. Greg nudged the princess, causing her to stumble forward. “Didn’t you need to get back home for something, Priscilla?”

  Lucky chuckled. “For a second there, Greg, it sounded like you were more concerned about going to the castle than you were about hearing the prophecy.”

  Greg forced a nervous chuckle. “Imagine.”

  “Does the prophecy say what Greg will do next?” Lucky asked Bart. “Anything in there about him going back to Pendegrass Castle?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Bart muttered to himself as he recited the exact words in his head. “Nope, not a thing in there specifically about the castle . . . just the celebration.”

  “I knew it,” said Lucky. “And everyone knows he’ll arrive there too late to save the princess.”

  “Right,” said Bart. “So, I guess we might as well get started for the lair. Oh, this is so exciting. I can’t believe I’m getting to be part of it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Greg said. “Why do I have the feeling Penelope’s not at the castle? This celebration you’re talking about—is that where all those people we’ve been passing have been headed?”

  “Of course,” said Bart. “Didn’t we tell you that before?”

  “I don’t believe this,” Greg cried. “We’ve got to reach Penelope before the dragon comes.” He turned on his heel and rushed back in the direction they had just come.

  Priscilla ran after him, and the two led the way to the celebration at a run. “Sorry, I didn’t know,” she told him.

  “I can’t believe we wasted so much time,” Greg said panting. To his left the sun was just dipping below the horizon. Already darkness was closing in, held o
ff only by the brightness of the moon above.

  Greg picked up the pace and didn’t slow even when Priscilla began to lag. He could hear the others hurrying, but didn’t dare look back. The trail ahead was empty. The last of the families must have reached the celebration. Only Greg and his group would be late, just as the prophecy predicted. To his right he spotted a trail shooting off into the woods and recognized the spot where he and the others entered the road earlier.

  “How much farther?” he gasped.

  “Not far,” said Lucky, who easily strode up from behind. “Less than a mile now.”

  Greg picked up the pace again, ignoring the protest of his weary muscles. Behind him Priscilla dropped farther back. Lucky slowed and waited for her to catch up.

  “Go,” Priscilla cried out as she approached him. “Why are you stopping? We don’t have ti—”

  Greg risked a glance over his shoulder. Lucky had seized Priscilla around the waist. While the others watched in shock, he quickly stuffed her into his pack, where her screams cut off in an instant. “Go. We’re wasting precious seconds.”

  The group slowed slightly as they mounted a gradual rise. Darkness pressed in around them, but the sky over the hill glowed brightly from the flames of hundreds of torches. Greg could hear faint music and laughter and knew they were close. He reached the top and gasped.

  Of course he’d been gasping the whole way, but now he had even more reason.

  Ahead in a shallow valley, it looked as though every man, woman and child in the kingdom celebrated, clapping and dancing about. Atop a pedestal at the center of it all stood Princess Penelope, dressed in one of her frilly gowns, arms crossed, impatiently tapping her foot, as if tired of waiting for the dragon to swing by and pick her up.

  “Run!” Greg screamed at the top of his lungs. “The dragon’s coming!”

  Amazingly, the entire celebration ground to a halt. Everyone including Penelope stopped to stare.

  Only, Greg realized it wasn’t his voice that stopped them but an even more startling noise from behind. It was a terrible, bone-chilling cry that rent the air like a giant cleaver, and Greg didn’t want to see what could possibly make such a sound.

  But he did see. Far off in the distance a blurry spot of blackness punctuated the dark gray sky. Quickly it grew until Greg’s worst fears were confirmed. The prophecy was falling into place exactly as foretold. The dragon Ruuan was coming!

  Greg couldn’t imagine a more frightening sight, and certainly wouldn’t if he could. Ruuan’s wings flapped with an unnatural slowness that hinted at the dragon’s enormous weight, and just as Greg decided the beast must be the largest creature he’d ever seen, he realized it was still a good ways off and surely much larger still.

  The dragon soared with incredible swiftness. It let out another piercing scream, this one all the more terrifying for its closeness, and released a blast of fire, incinerating the field below in an instant.

  To his amazement, Greg found he could run twice as fast as before.

  But where was he running to? Ahead, people screamed and scattered in all directions—all except Princess Penelope, who stayed put on her pedestal, albeit a little more nervously than before.

  “Run!” Greg shouted again, but she couldn’t possibly hear. “Run!”

  The dragon swept between Greg and the others, blocking out the entire sky. The glow Greg had seen before, when topping the rise, cut off in an instant as Ruuan dipped a wing to turn. The dragon’s tail sliced past Greg’s head as Ruuan released a jet of fire, and behind the celebration the entire woods exploded into flames. Ruuan was away in an instant, clearing the trees . . . and turning back. Suddenly, he headed their way again, growing faster as he neared.

  Greg wanted nothing more than to stop and scream for the others to save themselves, but he knew he had to reach Penelope.

  The dragon let out a roar that caused the very ground to tremble.

  Greg stumbled but somehow kept to his feet. He sped for the clearing and was just yards away when something caught his foot. As if an invisible hand had reached out and grasped his ankle, he felt his leg nearly pulled from its socket. He landed hard on his belly in the dirt. Rake screeched and tore off into the darkness. Behind Greg, the others fell too.

  Lucky’s pack spilled over the road, spewing broken melons and live chickens everywhere, but the oddest thing to come out of the pack was Princess Priscilla. She sprang to her feet before rolling even close to a stop, looking more like a maddened animal than anything Greg had seen on Myrth so far. She might not have had claws, but her fists looked just as dangerous, and she screamed to rival anything Ruuan might have offered.

  In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best thing for her to do. The noise drew the attention of everyone for miles, including Ruuan. The dragon swerved in mid-flight and descended upon Greg’s group, now blocking out not only the light of the celebration, but the blinding blaze of the burning woods.

  Greg tried to tackle Priscilla, knock her out of harm’s way, but the buffeting wind from Ruuan’s wings knocked him down and pinned him to the dirt. Torrents of dust exploded into the air like a desert storm. Through his tears Greg watched the dragon descend in slow motion, snatch the princess up with its claws. Priscilla’s mouth formed a scream, but all sound was lost beneath the rushing wind.

  Greg tried to scream as well. A blast of air struck his face, and when he opened his eyes again the dragon was already rising, with Priscilla struggling under the grip of talons the size of men. There was nothing Greg could do. He blinked tears from his eyes as Ruuan flapped through a slow turn, let out a bone-chilling screech and soared away. Within seconds, the dragon’s huge form was so distant that it appeared to float. Gradually it diminished to a blurry, black dot upon the horizon.

  To Greg’s horror, the tiny speck blinked away, and dust settled into the spot where, just seconds before, Princess Priscilla had stood.

  Aid from the Hart

  “What just happened?” Greg screamed.

  “Ruuan!” Lucky cried. “He took the wrong princess.”

  “Actually,” said Bart, rubbing a bruised shin, “nowhere in the prophecy does it explicitly state that Ruuan takes Princess Penelope. I guess we all just assumed . . .”

  “Or maybe the prophecy is just a lot of hooey,” Greg said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Greghart,” said Bart. “The prophecy is all we’ve got, though I dare say it has misled me a bit on this matter. I’ll have to rewrite at least a half-dozen of my best songs. Oh, dear, what on Myrth rhymes with Priscilla?”

  Greg struggled to his feet. He was vaguely aware of the party picking up again behind him. Apparently the townspeople didn’t care which princess Ruuan took, as long as the dragon left and there was food and drink to be had.

  Greg rubbed his elbow. “Ow. What did we trip over?”

  “How about villa?” said Bart. “Or armadilla?”

  “A vine,” said Lucky, holding up something nearly invisible in the moonlight. “The other end’s tied to that tree. What kind of idiot strings a vine across the middle of a road?”

  “No, I guess that’s armadillo, isn’t it?” said Bart. “What about vanilla?”

  “Please, Bart,” Greg pleaded. “We’re trying to figure out who did this.”

  “I’ll tell you who,” said a voice from the forest.

  Greg spun toward the sound, his walking stick at the ready. Nathan emerged from the black woods, less than gently pushing a small boy whose yellow tunic, even through the darkness, shone bright.

  “Melvin?”

  “You know this boy?” asked Nathan.

  “Of course,” said Lucky. “He’s Marvin Greatheart’s little brother. What are you doing here, Melvin?”

  “Nothin’,” Melvin spat. “I haven’t done nothin’. And besides . . . nobody saw me do it.”

  “So, you’re the one,” said Lucky. “I don’t believe it.”

  “One what?” asked Melvin innocently.

  “The one who’s
been following us this whole time,” Greg realized. His heart began to quicken. “You’ve been trying to kill me.”

  “Have not,” said Melvin. He shook loose of Nathan’s grasp. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you sawed through that bridge,” Greg said. “And you put a rabbit’s foot in my pocket so that bollywomp would attack me. You even set a herd of stampeding falchions on me.”

  “Oh, listen to yourself,” said Melvin. “Falchions don’t travel in herds.”

  Rake sniffed the ground by Melvin’s feet.

  “What have we here?” Nathan said. He picked up something Melvin had casually dropped behind his back. About four inches long and fashioned of wood with a series of drilled holes, the object looked to Greg like a kazoo. Nathan put it to his lips and blew. An odd note rang out, and within seconds the brush rattled and a large falchion emerged from the forest.

  Greg felt his anger rising. “So you did gather the falchions.”

  “Did not,” insisted Melvin.

  “I believe, young man,” said Nathan, “the evidence strongly suggests otherwise.”

  “Who asked you?” said Melvin.

  Greg closed in on the boy, furious. “Why’d you do it?” he demanded.

  “What’s the big deal? I was just trying to scare you into going back home. It’s not right. My brother Marvin should be rescuing the princess, not you.”

  “Oh, this is good stuff,” said Bart. “I know I’ll have to change even more lyrics, but imagine my songs when I’m through.”

  Greg didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe Melvin was responsible for all the terrible things that had been happening to him. “You could have killed me.”

  Melvin stared at Greg defiantly. “If you’re supposed to be this great dragonslayer who can do no wrong, like everyone says, then who am I to mess things up for you? How could someone as powerful as the Mighty Greghart be hurt by little ol’ me?”

  “Look,” said Nathan, “you boys are going to have to settle this between yourselves another time. Now that Ruuan’s got Priscilla, we need to hurry to the lair.”