How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  Greg started to ask, “What’s he doing here?” but just then the captain barked out a command, and as one the men snapped to attention.

  “Maaarrrch!” Captain Hawkins added, and the army began to march double file through the forest.

  “Get up there with Ryder,” Nathan said, shoving Greg forward. “You’re supposed to be leading these men, remember?”

  Greg gave one last glance at Agni and then rushed alongside the columns of men, taking two strides to their one, until he reached the front of the ranks, where Captain Hawkins marched purposefully along, head held high as an example to his men.

  “There you are, Greghart,” Ryder said. “You should be up here with me.”

  “Greg.”

  “What?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind, sir, my name’s not Greghart. It’s Greg.”

  Ryder looked down at him, confused, until Greg explained that his last name was Hart.

  “Sorry, Greghart,” said Ryder, “but these men are taking a big chance escorting you to the spire. If they hear you claiming your name isn’t Greghart, they’re likely to start doubting the prophecy. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Sure, I guess,” Greg muttered.

  “Cheer up, son,” said Ryder. “Tell me about yourself. You look a bit young for someone in your profession. How long have you been slaying dragons?”

  “I haven’t,” said Greg. “I mean, I’m not a dragonslayer. We don’t even have dragons where I come from.”

  “No dragons?” said Ryder, impressed. “You must have some very skilled dragonslayers indeed.”

  “No—oh, never mind. Why is one of King Peter’s magicians traveling with us?”

  “I do not know. Queen Pauline ordered him to come. That’s all I need know.”

  “Are you familiar with the prophecy?”

  “Only as much as I need to be,” said Ryder. “It’s not wise for a man to know too much about his future.”

  “So I’ve been told. Are your men going to help me fight Ruuan?”

  Ryder looked surprised over the question. “Well, now I haven’t heard anything about that. It’s my understanding they will—how was it written?—’face hundreds of thousands of Canaraza warriors who would fight to the death to defend the dragon from harm’—but as to the actual battle against Ruuan, well, I guess I just always assumed that would be up to you. Don’t get me wrong. My men are brave as they come, seasoned soldiers to a man . . . but they’re not crazy. I doubt I could get a single one of them to agree to go up against a dragon.”

  The boost in spirit Greg felt moments before abandoned him as quickly as Ryder’s men might if he told them he wanted their help in Ruuan’s lair. Before Greg could start feeling too sorry for himself, Melvin jogged up from behind.

  “Ah, you must be Norman Greatheart’s youngest son,” said Ryder. “I haven’t seen you since you were just a little tyke, about knee high.”

  Melvin flushed, which caused Greg to smirk in spite of his grim mood.

  This of course made Melvin flush all the more. “Do you know my brother Marvin?” he asked the captain.

  “Marvin Greatheart? Of course, I know him. A fine man, your brother. A braver fighter there never was. Why, give me a dozen Marvins, and I could just leave these other fellows back at Pendegrass Castle when it came time to patrol our borders.”

  “See?” Melvin said, glowering at Greg. “Told you so.”

  “I never said your brother wasn’t a good fighter.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because they brought me,” Greg said. “King Peter’s magicians. It’s not like I wanted to come. I didn’t even know this place existed. It’s all because of that stupid prophecy.”

  “How can a prophecy be stupid?” said Ryder. “Why, prophecies just state facts, is all—and before they occur, I’ll remind you, which hardly sounds stupid at all.”

  Greg quickly explained to the captain about how Marvin Greatheart should be slaying the dragon, not Greg, but no one would believe him.

  “Marvin Greatheart?” said Ryder. “Well, I can see where you might think that . . . but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not consider the possibility of a prophecy being in error. To be honest, the whole matter sets my skin crawling.”

  Melvin, who had been listening in silence, stared at Greg as if seeing him for the first time. When Ryder fell back to review his troops, leaving Greg alone to “lead” the army, Melvin cleared his throat experimentally.

  “Got a cold?” Greg asked.

  “Did you really mean what you said about the prophecy being about Marvin?”

  “Of course. I’ve been trying to tell you that since the day we met.”

  “Then you really don’t want the glory of slaying Ruuan all to yourself?”

  “Glory? I’m going to be killed.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Melvin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I know you don’t believe in prophecies, but I do. My brother Marvin relies on them a lot. You think he’d have the courage to fight a fire-breathing dragon if he didn’t have a prophecy saying he wouldn’t be burned to a crisp?”

  “Are you telling me Marvin wouldn’t be slaying dragons if Simon hadn’t already foretold that he was going to win?”

  Melvin scooped up a rock and used it to scare off a rabbit that looked about to challenge the entire army to a fight. “Heck no. What do you think he is, an idiot?”

  “No, I just—”

  “Don’t get me wrong. Marvin’s brave as they come—you’d have to be to march into a dragon’s lair on the word of that senile, old coot, Simon—but there’s more to it than that. He’s so sure of himself, I can’t imagine him losing. You better be, too, if you plan on surviving this thing.”

  “Great,” said Greg, “then I am doomed. I’ve seen Ruuan. I don’t believe for an instant I can fight him.”

  Melvin shrugged. “Then I’ll help you.”

  “You’ll help?” said Greg. “What can you do?”

  Any sign of humanity Melvin had shown disappeared in an instant. Greg quickly held up his hands. “Sorry. I mean, I know you’ll probably be a great dragonslayer some day, but . . . well . . . let’s face it, you aren’t yet.”

  “Maybe not,” Melvin huffed, “but I’ve watched Marvin lots, and I know plenty of good dragon-slaying techniques, even if I’ve never had a chance to try them out myself.”

  “And you’d help me?” said Greg dubiously.

  “Of course.”

  “What of course? A few days ago you were trying to kill me.”

  “Scare you, Greg. I was trying to scare you.”

  “Yeah, by killing me.”

  Melvin flushed a little around the collar of his bright yellow tunic, producing an interesting orange effect. “I said I was sorry.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Well, I’m saying it now. Oh, and . . . thanks for saving my life the other day, too. I can’t believe I let a troll sneak up on me like that.”

  “I get it,” said Greg. “You’re only helping me because I saved your life.”

  “No,” Melvin corrected. “I’m helping you because if you get killed no one will ever believe in prophecies again. Everyone will know Simon is a loon, and my brother will be out of a job. I told you, there’s no way he’ll keep fighting dragons without Simon’s predictions.”

  Greg rubbed his eyelids. Well, at least he had Melvin on his side now. Maybe the boy knew something about slaying dragons and maybe he didn’t, but having him as an advisor was certainly better than returning him to the bushes to plot a dozen different ways to kill Greg.

  Doubting Hart

  “Bart!” Greg shouted after the bard began his eighth song about the horrors Greg faced. “Do you have to keep playing that thing? I’m not in the mood for music.”

  “Not in the mood?” Bart echoed from the campfire, looking as if Greg had said he wasn’t in the mood to breathe. He set down his lute and sat fidgeting for a while,
clearly uncertain what to do with his hands.

  Greg rolled over and covered his head. He thought he’d had trouble sleeping before. Now he had the constant noise of celebrating soldiers to contend with. Not that Ryder’s troops didn’t sleep—they did—but with five hundred of them sharing one campsite, there was never a moment when at least a dozen or two weren’t laughing and cursing and swapping stories of battles long past while the others rested in blissful slumber.

  “A bit loud, aren’t they?” Lucky said.

  “I’ll say,” said Greg.

  “You should be flattered. They’re only celebrating because they’re excited about being part of your adventure. People will sing of this trip for decades to come.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Greg muttered hoarsely. He stared at the stars in silence. The air had turned so cold he could see his breath in the light cast by the campfires littering the camp.

  “Something the matter?” Lucky asked.

  Greg sighed to himself and leaned up on one elbow. “I asked Ryder earlier if his men were going to help me fight Ruuan. They’re not.”

  Lucky nodded. Whether that meant the boy understood or already knew, Greg wasn’t sure.

  “So I asked Bart if the prophecy said anything about it.”

  “And?”

  “If it did he wouldn’t tell me. I think Nathan asked him not to.”

  “Tough luck,” said Lucky.

  Greg released a heavy breath and rocked back onto his shoulders. “He did mention it would be a simple matter to fit five hundred men into a dragon’s lair.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “But then he went on to say it would be another matter entirely to fit them in there at the same time as a dragon.”

  “I see,” said Lucky from the darkness.

  “He also said I would have a lot of trouble getting them in there even if they did fit.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And that unless I had enough fireproofing potion to go around, he very seriously doubted I could count on them even getting close to the spire. What am I going to do, Lucky?”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll think of something.”

  Greg rolled away to face the moon. “That’s just it. I don’t think I will.”

  Greg would have expected a lot of difficulty rousing five hundred men and getting them to eat breakfast, pack their gear and fall into formation to begin another day-long march through the forest. But when the trumpet sounded in what Greg considered to be the middle of night, the men jumped to their feet as if responding to a starter’s pistol and hustled to get ready.

  Greg almost wished they’d slow down. Melvin had spent half the night teaching him dragon-slaying techniques until the two boys could barely stand. Now Greg’s muscles ached worse than they had that first night on the trail. He’d give anything for just a few more hours of sleep, especially if he could spend them home in his own bed.

  But that wouldn’t help Priscilla, would it?

  He crawled to his feet and forced himself to hurry like the rest of them. It was a good thing, too. Lucky was ready to stow the bedding, and Greg was in danger of disappearing into the magical pack.

  A few hours later, at first break, Greg spotted the Infinite Spire through a gap in the branches. Hard to believe the tower could look even more formidable than it had from Fey Field.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Ryder said. The captain had been sharing stories with Greg all morning. He was an amazing man, who’d fought more monsters than even the make-believe hero from Greg’s journal, and Greg felt ashamed to think anyone might compare the two of them and think Greg was braver just because of some ridiculous prophecy. If they only knew how terrified he really was, they’d laugh Greg back to the castle, string up Simon and be done with it.

  “Greghart?” Ryder prompted.

  “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “The spire. Quite impressive, don’t you think?”

  Greg fought to take in a breath. “It certainly is. How long till we get there?”

  “Still over three weeks off, I’m afraid.”

  “Three weeks? But it’s right there,” Greg said, pointing.

  “I know, Greghart, but I suppose infinitely tall towers have a way of looking closer than they really are. Take my word for it. We’re still over five hundred miles away.”

  “No, that won’t work. What about Princess Priscilla?”

  “What about her?” Ryder asked.

  “Maybe there’s a small chance Ruuan hasn’t eaten her by now, but you can’t possibly expect him to hold off another three weeks. Even if he did, she’ll die of starvation before then.”

  Ryder glanced down at Greg sternly. “No, I’m going to have to disagree with you there. The prophecy says you’re going to rescue her, and I don’t think it would qualify as much of a rescue if she was dead when you got there.”

  Greg knew there was no point reasoning with crazy people. “Ryder, do you know how I’m supposed to defeat the dragon?”

  The captain’s face took on a more compassionate expression. “Sorry. I wish I did, so I could put your mind at ease.”

  Greg frowned. “I doubt you could say anything that would do that.”

  “Listen, Greghart, I want to tell you something. I’ve lived side-by-side with fighting men all my life, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s a soldier. Look at you, green as a garter snake, and about as big as one too, and yet here you are, who knows how far from your own world, hiking through the heart of the Weird Weald on your way to single-handedly tackle the mightiest beast the world of Myrth has ever known.”

  It occurred to Greg that Ryder wasn’t any better at putting someone at ease than Nathan was. “So?”

  “So? If that doesn’t show how astonishingly brave you are, I don’t know what does.”

  Greg said nothing. He didn’t have the heart to tell Ryder he was only here because the others had forced him to come.

  “And I saw you practicing those moves last night with the Greatheart boy,” Ryder said. “You’re pretty good. Fast as lightning, too. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could best a few of my own.”

  Greg looked up at the captain doubtfully. “Yeah, well, they’re just men. How am I supposed to fight a dragon?”

  “Ah, now see, that’s where you have a real advantage.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No sir. You may be smaller than Ruuan, but you’ve got intelligence in your favor.”

  Greg tried to imagine how this could possibly help. “Aren’t dragons supposed to be really clever?”

  “Oh—um—right. Well, try to get a dialog going with him. Then he’ll at least appreciate the fact that you’re clever too.”

  “Ruuan can talk?”

  “Of course. And you’ll want him to. Remember, the more you can keep Ruuan talking, the less he’ll be shooting flames at you.”

  Greg let his gaze drop to the ground so Ryder wouldn’t see him cry. “Yeah, that makes me feel a lot better.”

  “Good, Greghart. Now, I think we’d best get these men moving again. We have a long road ahead of us.”

  “Yeah, too long,” Greg admitted. He spotted the magician Agni apart from the others, meditating with his back against a tree. “Hey, Ryder, can you wait just another minute.”

  Ryder looked around the camp at his exhausted troops. “One, but no more.”

  With a groan, Greg pried himself to his feet and crossed to Agni. The magician looked up at him with the same hateful expression he had used the day before.

  “I need your help,” Greg told him.

  “I’ll give you credit for boldness,” Agni told him. “Why should I help you?”

  “It’s not just me you’d be helping. You do want to save the princess, don’t you?”

  The look in Agni’s eyes caused Greg to take a cautious step backward. No magician should look that angry. “I thought we had already done that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Agni gla
nced around the campsite to see if anyone was listening, then spoke in a low voice, though to Greg it sounded more like a hiss. “Mordred and I worked very hard at producing an illusion of Priscilla waiting to be picked up by the dragon. The spell was a masterpiece. Not even Ruuan would have likely realized she was not real until he actually tried to eat her. It would have moved this whole affair out of the public eye and given us time to come up with a plan. Perhaps we could have sealed the dragon in its lair. Then you had to come along and ruin everything. You had no right coming to Myrth in the first place.”

  Greg could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Well, don’t blame me. You’re the one who brought me here.”

  “That was before Mordred told me of your true role in all of this.”

  “Are you going to help me or not? Isn’t that why the queen sent you?”

  Agni scoffed. “It is a fool’s errand. There is nothing a single magician can do to stand against a dragon.”

  Greg’s stomach began to churn. If someone with a magician’s powers thought there was no hope, what chance did he have?

  “And even if I could save her, I wouldn’t.”

  Greg’s mouth dropped open. “Why not?”

  “You don’t understand these people. Living by prophecy has defined their lives for longer than anyone can remember. They know no other way. There would be no gain in my stepping in to handle this for you. Their lives would be destroyed.”

  “But that’s still going to happen,” Greg insisted. “When I fail, not only will the prophecy be broken, but Princess Priscilla will be dead.”

  “I admit, I can see no way you can succeed, but you are all these people have. Princess or not, I shall not step one foot within that spire. It would be suicide.”

  Ryder’s voice rang through the clearing. “Fall in!”

  The men instantly jumped up and fell into formation.

  Greg watched them a moment and then turned back to Agni. “Queen Pauline sent you to help, so help. Can’t you at least get us there quicker?”

  “You expect me to move an entire army halfway across the kingdom?”

  “You moved me between worlds.”

  “That was a mistake. Besides, it was different. You are just one person, and we had many magicians. Plus, we were bringing you to us. Now you are asking me not only to transport myself a great distance, but to bring all of you with me.”