How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  He looked to the spire and hesitated. He’d hoped this moment would never come. He questioned whether it was really here now. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he should be dreaming. If he just took the acorns out of his ears he could fade into peaceful oblivion . . . and then maybe this whole dragon issue would go away.

  But then he remembered Priscilla. He helped Lucky to his feet and picked up Nathan’s walking stick.

  “What’s that?” Lucky asked, pointing to a rectangular object on the ground.

  “My journal.” Greg scooped up the book and tucked it into his tunic. He started to pick up his drab cloak, too, but Lucky shook his head.

  “You won’t need that where we’re going.”

  Greg nodded. As if in a dream, he felt himself tread over the ridge and down the slope into the valley. Everywhere he looked spirelings and shadowcats littered the ground. The spirelings’ teeth and claws looked even more horrifying up close, and Greg just knew that any moment one would snap awake and sound an alarm that could end only in his being torn to shreds by thousands of jagged teeth. But the spirelings did not wake.

  Greg and Lucky wove their way through the maze of bodies, moving as quickly and as quietly as they could, until they reached a huge, cleared area in front of the cave mouth. (Apparently the spirelings didn’t want to rest too close to the opening, just in case the dragon decided to come out.)

  At the edge of the camp stood a wagon full of food and supplies. Seeing it reminded Greg he was going to miss breakfast. Even a condemned man gets a last meal, he thought, but then so had he. Only, no one had bothered mentioning it was his last when he had eaten dinner earlier.

  “What’s with the rails?” Lucky asked softly.

  “What?” Greg reached up and took the acorns out of his ears. “What?” he repeated.

  Only then did Greg notice the wagon had no wheels but rested on rails like a sleigh. At first he thought this odd, but then he saw the glassy floor of the cave, no doubt worn smooth by the passage of dragon scales for centuries on end. He felt this one fact alone bode poorly.

  As Greg faced the open cave mouth, just steps from going inside, a sudden thought struck him. They’d come a long way to reach this point, faced numerous obstacles and dangers too frightening to contemplate, and now that they were here . . . well, Greg was far more terrified than ever. His breath came to him in ragged gasps. His hands shook so badly he could barely hold Nathan’s staff. It was the worst case of cold feet he’d ever experienced, maybe the worst case of cold feet anyone had ever experienced, and he knew then he’d been right all along. He was anything but a hero. After all, would a real hero weigh his chances of sprinting past the spirelings and all of Ryder’s men to reach the forest before anyone could tackle him?

  Yet in spite of his fears, Greg thought of Priscilla. He didn’t know if it made him a hero, but there was no way he was leaving here without her. He edged up to the enormous cave mouth and surveyed it with a discriminating eye. In this case his eye was discriminating against anything so large as to require an opening fifty feet in diameter to crawl through.

  “Sure is a large opening,” he mumbled to himself.

  Lucky studied the entrance with a puzzled expression. “No larger than it has to be for Ruuan to squeeze in and out.”

  Greg felt a trickle of sweat run down his back.

  “Good thing he can fold his wings tightly to his body,” Lucky added.

  “Yeah, good thing.”

  “Well,” Lucky said glumly, “you really should get started. It’s a long climb to the dragon’s lair.”

  “Me? Aren’t you coming?”

  Lucky shrugged. “It’s not like you need my guidance anymore. Just follow the tunnel to Ruuan’s lair. You can’t miss it. It’s the only dragon’s lair up there.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Greg.

  “Sure it is. Dragons are very territorial.”

  “I mean, I’m not going alone.”

  “You want me to come with you?” Lucky said, his expression brightening. “That would be great. I’ve never seen a live dragon up close before. When Ruuan took Priscilla, I couldn’t pick my face up out of the dirt.”

  Greg frowned. “You want to go up there?”

  “Well, sure. Don’t you?”

  Greg shook his head, remembering what Nathan had said about Lucky’s good fortune one day running out.

  The back wall of the cave stood no more than fifty feet away and veered sharply to the left, beginning a tunnel that wound its way up the inner circumference of the spire. Greg stepped closer and peered inside, only to be met by a blast of heat.

  “Whoa, that’s hot!”

  “No kidding, Greg,” said Lucky. “A fire-breathing dragon’s lived in there for centuries.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—” He knew he would need a fireproofing spell at some point within the spire, but he never thought he’d have to use it to take his first step inside.

  Quickly he removed the two vials Hazel had given him and pulled the stopper from the one she’d claimed was dragon spit. He had no reason to doubt her. It smelled putrid and decayed, exactly like Greg imagined the mouth of a dragon would. With very little enthusiasm, he and Lucky dripped the sticky substance over the soles of their boots and walked around experimentally. With each step his boot first stuck to the ground and then popped loose with a slight tug. It was an odd feeling, but one Greg got used to after a little practice.

  He then removed the red vial Hazel gave him.

  “That’s not the fire-proofing spell, is it?” Lucky asked.

  Greg didn’t especially like his tone. “Yeah. Why?”

  “It’s just that fireproofing spells are usually blue. That looks more like a fire-inducing spell. Are you sure Hazel heard you right?”

  Greg held the vial at arm’s length, as if it had sprouted teeth. “She knew why I wanted it, and she had no reason to trick me.” Except she’s a witch, Greg’s mind screamed. “Um . . . here, try it.”

  “Me?” said Lucky. “You should go first. That way we’ll be sure it’s the right potion. After all, you certainly couldn’t fulfill the prophecy if you burst into flames at this point.”

  Greg felt a twinge of panic. “Yeah . . . on the other hand, you’re the lucky one. If you drank the wrong potion and exploded . . . well, that wouldn’t be lucky at all, would it?”

  “No, it wouldn’t,” Lucky admitted. “Which is why they’ll say I had the good fortune to have you sample the potion first.”

  Greg was running short on arguments. “I’m not really thirsty,” he tried, but he knew there was no point. No matter how much he hated going on from here, it was Priscilla’s only chance. He took one last fleeting look at the bubbling red potion, raised it to his lips and downed half in a single swallow. An icy chill surged through his body, so cold he had to toss the remaining potion to Lucky and race into the cave mouth or catch his death of cold.

  Lucky gulped down his half of the potion and quickly followed.

  “F-f-f-freezing!” Greg said once Lucky joined him inside the tunnel.

  Lucky hopped about with his arms wrapped around his chest, shivering uncontrollably. “En-n-n-njoy it while you c-c-c-can. You’ll be p-p-p-plenty warm soon enough. Now, let’s get moving.”

  Greg turned and headed up the tunnel, then stopped abruptly after just a few steps. “The sleigh.”

  Having been holding his head down low as he negotiated the steep climb, Lucky bumped right into him. “Hey, w-why’d you stop?”

  “I think I’m supposed to take the spirelings’ sleigh with me.”

  “What for? W-we’ve got everything we need in my pack.”

  “Yeah, I know, but Nathan told me the fireproofing spell won’t last, and that I may need to get out of here quickly.”

  Lucky studied the slope ahead of them. “We might be able to use it to get out quickly, but it’s sure not going to be a quick trip up, dragging that thing behind us.”

  “Yes, but Nathan said something else, too. A bit
of preparation may save me a lot of trouble in the end. I think this may be what he meant.”

  Lucky shrugged. “It’s your destiny.”

  The two boys ran back out of the tunnel into the freezing air. Greg hopped about behind the sleigh while Lucky yanked off his pack and pulled out a length of heavy, corded rope.

  “You can tie this to the front of the wagon,” Lucky suggested, and then, after a very brief lecture on the difference between wagons and sleighs, Greg secured the rope to the front of what was clearly a sleigh, grabbed the torch from Lucky’s pack to light their way, and the boys heaved with all their might.

  The sleigh didn’t budge.

  “Lighten the load,” Greg ordered, and Lucky jumped into the bed and started hurling away supplies.

  With the sleigh empty, the boys were able to free it from the dusty soil and slide it onto the glassy tunnel floor. Still the incline was steep, and they tired quickly. If they eased up for even a moment the sleigh dragged them back down the slope in spite of their sticky boots. They had to alternate their breaks, one bracing against the full weight of the sleigh while the other rested.

  Greg had stowed Nathan’s staff in Lucky’s pack, but he still had the added difficulty of trying to hold the eternal torch with one hand while he pulled, using it to inspect the tunnel walls for some sign of the Passageway of Shifted Dimensions. According to Hazel the tunnel was undetectable, but still he searched. If he admitted the impossibility of finding the passageway, he might as well give up now.

  Wait.

  Oh, yeah, Priscilla.

  After what seemed like hours, Greg was too exhausted to go on. Of course, the same could have been said when they started off, but now he was also beginning to notice the heat. Hopefully he was just overexerted, because the alternative was too terrifying to contemplate. He slowed to a stop, panting.

  “I don’t think I can go on,” he told Lucky. “And as much as I hate to say it, I don’t think we have much time left on the fireproofing spell.”

  Lucky nodded, the cords of his neck standing out under the strain.

  Greg’s arms threatened to pop out of their sockets. “Just out of curiosity, if you burst into flames at any point, is it okay if I assume the prophecy was wrong?”

  “It’s not wrong,” Lucky said, but even he seemed uncertain.

  Though neither boy dared mention it, Greg knew their next break would be their last. Sure, they could abandon the quest, try riding the sleigh out, but then Priscilla would be lost.

  “Go ahead, rest,” Lucky told him. “You need it more than I do. I haven’t had to carry the torch.”

  “Thanks,” Greg said. “You sure you can hold it?”

  “I think so. Ease off slowly.”

  Relief surged through his body as Greg eased off the rope and shook the tightness from his arms. Lucky’s arms were shaking so violently Greg could barely bring them into focus, but the sleigh stayed put, at least for the moment. A diamond-shaped object, roughly the size of a shield, lay on the floor of the tunnel ahead. Greg picked it up and admired its leathery smooth feel.

  “What’s that?” Lucky groaned.

  “Don’t know,” said Greg. “Here, you look.” He traded places with Lucky one last time, his arms protesting from the strain as Lucky took the object and inspected it.

  “Well?” Greg grunted.

  “It’s a dragon’s scale,” Lucky told him. “Must have fallen off Ruuan on his way through here.”

  “Too bad he’s not here now,” Greg grumbled. “Maybe he would carry us up to the lair if we asked nicely.” He felt the rope begin to slip through his fingers and strengthened his grip. “I have an idea. Try wedging that scale under the runner of the sleigh.”

  Lucky walked behind the sleigh and did as Greg asked. “Try easing up on the rope.”

  Greg didn’t need to try. The rope was already slipping through his fingers. The sleigh held at first, but then the scale slipped on the glassy floor and kicked loose, nearly jerking the rope from his hand. Greg screamed. He threw his weight into it and managed to stop the sleigh before it ran over Lucky, who stood scratching his head, confident his talent would keep him from being flattened.

  “Okay, I have another idea,” Greg said.

  “Is this one as likely to get me killed?” Lucky asked curiously.

  “Check and see if there’s any dragon spit left,” Greg said as he strained against the rope.

  Lucky plucked the black vial from around Greg’s neck and held it up to the torch. “Maybe a drop or two.”

  “Try using it on the scale.”

  Lucky returned to kneel behind the sleigh. He popped the cork and shook the vial over the dragon’s scale, scattering a few remaining drops across its surface. “Let’s hope it’s enough,” he said as he wedged the scale back into place. “Try it now.”

  Greg really had no choice, as his arms were again giving out. He eased off the rope in the sense that he suddenly let go, and this time the scale held firm. Unfortunately only one runner was blocked. With a jerk the sleigh pivoted sideways and crashed into the tunnel wall. Lucky shrieked and dodged out of the way, possibly reconsidering how far his talent would carry him.

  “You okay?” Greg asked.

  “Of course. Hey, look at this.”

  Greg felt uncomfortable dropping the rope, but the sleigh seemed firmly wedged between the wall and the dragon scale. He moved around to join Lucky, where a fine crack no wider than a thread crept up the tunnel wall for several feet, beginning at the spot where the corner of the sleigh had impacted the surface. Greg drew his finger over the line, and the end of the crack crept along in front of it, giving the impression Greg held his finger on a giant zipper in the stone.

  “It’s a doorway,” Lucky said.

  “Not just any doorway,” said Greg. “It’s the Passageway of Shifted Dimensions. We found it.”

  “No way. I mean—I knew we would. How does it open?”

  Greg thought a moment. “Hazel said we needed to command it to open in the name of the prophet.”

  Lucky shrugged, pivoted toward the door, and raised his arms wide. “I Command You To Open In The Name Of The Prophet!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Try using his real name,” Greg suggested.

  “I Command You To Open In The Name Of Simon Sezxqrthm!” Lucky tried.

  Still nothing.

  Greg grunted. “You’ve got to be kidding. Here, let me.” He faced the door just as Lucky had done and spoke in a much more ordinary tone. “Simon Sez, open.”

  With a click the door swung inward, spilling a wave of refreshingly cool air into the tunnel, proof of the powerful magic within.

  “You did it!” Lucky said.

  “Seems so,” said Greg. He just wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  The Passageway

  of Shifted Dimensions

  Greg had assumed the white crack outlining the passage had been caused by light filtering in from behind, but the door opened to a side tunnel of utter darkness. He could make out only the first ten feet or so by the light of his flickering torch.

  “I hope this is it,” he whispered.

  “Of course it is,” said Lucky. “How many magical passageways do you think are up here?”

  “Who knows? The tunnel is infinitely long. There may be quite a few. Let’s see if we can get this sleigh in there. I’ll pull the rope. You push from behind.”

  Lucky scrambled around to the back of the sleigh and prepared to push while Greg picked up the rope and stepped into the passageway, pulling out the slack. Greg’s arms felt like rubber, but to his surprise the sleigh moved on the first tug, sliding easily into the passageway, only to become firmly wedged in the narrow opening.

  “Doesn’t fit,” Lucky grunted. “What do we do now?”

  “Push it back out,” said Greg. “It’s already served its purpose. We’ll just have to leave it.”

  He waited for Lucky to step out of the way, then set down his torch, dousing the area
in sudden darkness, and pushed. The sleigh held tight.

  “What are you waiting for, Greg?”

  “It’s stuck. Just crawl under.”

  Lucky agreed, but unfortunately the sleigh sat too low to the ground. He could fit neither under nor over it. “I knew it was too good to be true,” he called out. “Well, you go ahead. You can tell me all about the dragon when you get back.”

  Greg’s stomach churned. If only he would get the chance. He groped the floor of the passageway for the eternal torch until his fingers bumped into the hard wood and lit the area with an eerie, flickering glow.

  “Er, thanks for all your help,” he told Lucky.

  “No problem. See you soon.”

  One last trembling breath and Greg stepped into the ominous passageway.

  “Wait!” Lucky called out.

  Greg seized in his tracks, all too happy to oblige.

  “Here,” Lucky said with a grunt. The magic sword he had been carrying in his pack this whole trip rattled across the stone and slid to a stop at Greg’s feet. “You can’t fight Ruuan without a sword.”

  Greg bent to pick up the weapon, but he was too tired to lift it. He could never swing it in battle. “Where’s my walking stick?” he called back.

  A moment later the stick shot past his ankle hard enough to pierce the bone had it struck him.

  “Watch out,” Lucky called.

  Greg slid the sword back under the sleigh, making sure to give Lucky more of a warning than Lucky gave him. “You keep that,” he said. “Who knows? You might consider yourself lucky you had it.”

  After one final good-bye, Greg started up the passageway. He paused to pick up Nathan’s walking stick after the first thirty feet, and then followed the winding passage upward, wondering if enough cool air would spill into the tunnel to protect Lucky once Hazel’s fireproofing spell gave out. He also wondered why Lucky, with his unnatural ability to beat the odds, was the one stuck outside the passage, but it was best not to think about such things.

  So much time passed, Greg began to wonder how much of a shortcut this Passageway of Shifted Dimensions really offered. Hazel had told him the lair was halfway up the Infinite Spire. Now, maybe the magic of the passageway cut that distance in half again, or quarters, maybe even eighths, but still . . . he had just willed himself to pick up the pace when a voice rang out in the passage ahead. As if drenched in a fresh layer of dragon spit, Greg’s boots glued themselves to the spot.