by Bill Allen
He tumbled to a stop. Cool, refreshing air rushed over his body. Several beams of moonlight drifted in from a row of portals in the stone a dozen feet above his head, but none could push back the dark. Perhaps they were responsible for the chill—Greg had an idea the air outside an infinitely tall spire might get quite frigid—but more likely this was some sort of magic storage locker, an enchanted refrigerator where Ruuan kept his prey so it wouldn’t spoil, or burst into flames.
“Ugh, awful,” he sputtered, trying to get the taste of dragon spit out of his mouth.
Lucky rustled nearby, groaning. “Try riding on the outside. Believe me, this was better.”
“Greg! Lucky!”
All sorts of thoughts rushed through Greg’s mind before he recognized the voice, none of them pleasant.
“Prissy?” said Lucky.
“Sasha!” insisted the voice.
Greg was so happy he could—wait, he wasn’t happy at all. “Priscilla?”
“Right here.”
He felt something wrap around him, pinning his arms to his side. “That is you, isn’t it?”
“Of course, silly. I knew you’d rescue me.”
“About that . . .” said Lucky.
Greg’s eyes began to adjust until he could just make out the princess’s questioning gaze. “I’m afraid the rescue’s not going very smoothly.” He quickly explained about the incident with the sleigh, and how moments ago Ruuan had unfortunately been less dead than they thought.
“Oh, this is terrible,” said Priscilla. “What are we going to do?”
“Now don’t panic,” said Lucky. “I’m sure Greg will come up with a plan. He is the one going to rescue you, after all.”
“Would you stop talking about me like I can do no wrong?” Greg said. “I don’t have a plan. I can’t possibly fight Ruuan. I’m lucky to be alive at this point.”
He stormed off and began feeling the walls of the cell, searching for a means of escape. As far as he could tell there were two. One, he could simply step into Ruuan’s lair, where with any luck the dragon would eat him before he melted into the rock, but that option seemed less than desirable. Two, he could climb the wall, squeeze through one of the portals, and plunge to his death. Again, not pleasant, but since the lair sat halfway up an infinitely tall spire, at least he’d never have to worry about hitting the ground. Of course, there was a third option—he could just stay where he was until Ruuan came for him—but technically that didn’t qualify as a means of escape.
Desperate for a fourth option, Greg looped the cell again, searching for anything he might have missed. As it turned out he’d missed the pile of human bones stacked in one corner, where the moonlight couldn’t penetrate. He also missed the pack of filthy rats picking at a more recent carcass nearby. Oh, and he missed the harpy resting against the far wall tearing apart a rather nasty looking serpent with her pointed beak. He made a mental note to try to be more observant.
“Lucky?”
The sound of rapid footsteps interrupted by repeated thuds and associated curses, as of someone running into rock walls, filled the air. Apparently Lucky was having trouble following the sound of Greg’s voice as it echoed throughout the chamber. Finally Greg spotted a dark figure approaching from his left. He hoped it was Lucky.
“Ugh, harpies,” came Lucky’s voice. “I hate those things. They make me want to vomit.”
The harpy paused in mid tear and glared up at Lucky balefully. She regurgitated a small pile of serpent slush over the front of her chest, licked it up with her long, reptilian tongue, and resumed eating.
“Oh, yuck. See what I mean?”
“That’s Gretchen,” said Priscilla, who walked up from behind. “Don’t stare. She doesn’t like to be disturbed while she’s eating.”
“You know it?” said Lucky.
“Her. Of course. We’ve been sharing this cell together for days.” Priscilla lowered her voice and added, “Try to be nice, would you? I imagine Ruuan will be coming for her soon.”
“Ruuan will be coming for us all,” he said. “We need a way out of here.”
“There was an opening out front,” said Lucky helpfully. “Remember? Ruuan tossed us through it.”
“We can’t go out that way,” Priscilla said. “Ruuan’s still out there.”
“Well, we certainly can’t go out the back. We’re too far up.”
Given his choices, Greg thought that soaring through the air for eternity seemed far preferable to any other means of death he could think of—though probably only because he didn’t like to think about any of the other means.
“Would you two quit arguing?” said Greg. “We need to put our heads together to come up with a plan. Now, we could try sneaking past Ruuan, couldn’t we?”
“You kidding?” said Lucky. “The rock out there’s so hot it’s melting, and we don’t have another fireproofing spell.”
“So we just need another spell,” said Priscilla. “Where can we get one of those?”
“From the witch.” Lucky must have realized the flaw in that plan and shook his head glumly.
“We don’t need a spell anymore,” Greg told them. “Remember, I have the spirelings’ amulet.”
They strode to the front of the cell and peered through the crack in the rock at the dragon. He lay upon a large pile of treasure, his eyes closed, as if asleep.
“What if he wakes up?” Priscilla asked.
Greg realized he had given away the magic sword. Even his stick was lost somewhere down at the bottom of the spire. “We need a weapon.”
He peered outside again at the pile of treasure. Hard to get a good look, what with the three-hundred-foot-long dragon curled up on top of it, but Greg was sure the treasure must be magically protected from the heat, for amidst the pile of sparkling gems he was able to distinguish a broken wooden bucket, the rusty head of a double-edged axe, and a short plank with a half-moon cutout that looked like it might have once been part of an outhouse. Apparently Ruuan wasn’t particular about the treasures he collected.
But nowhere did Greg see anything that he might use to fight a dragon, as if such a thing existed. He’d just convinced himself the situation was hopeless when Lucky nearly jumped through the crack, pointing and somehow shouting without making much of a sound.
“Look!” Lucky gasped.
“What?” said Greg. “You see a sword?”
“No, better,” Lucky said, hopping up and down excitedly. “Look.”
Greg sighted along Lucky’s finger toward the opposite side of the lair, where a huge, blond man, clad in nothing but a loincloth and worn, leather sandals, tiptoed stealthily past the sleeping dragon. In one hand he held a shield woven from the scales of a dragon, in the other a long, battle-worn sword. His broad shoulders and bare chest rippled all the way to his trim waist, and each of his legs bulged as broad as Greg himself.
“Greatheart!” Priscilla cried. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who cares?” said Lucky. “We’re going to be rescued.”
Greg had to catch himself from crying out. Suddenly everything made sense. The prophecy was true after all, but just as he’d always suspected, it was never about him. One glance was all it took to see that this man was a real dragonslayer, and Greg couldn’t be happier to hand over the title. He’d never wanted to be a hero anyway. Okay, maybe he did, back when he was on Earth writing in his journal, safe in the knowledge that dragons didn’t exist. Now he’d give anything to be just another twelve-year-old boy.
But then something horrible happened. Ruuan’s eyes popped open, and his enormous head lifted high into the air. The Mighty Greatheart’s eyes widened too. He wisely abandoned his covert approach and made a mad dash for the cell.
“Watch out!” Greg shouted as Marvin dove for cover, floating slow-motion through the air. Then time caught up. The dragonslayer soared through the crack in the rock an instant ahead of a jet of searing flames. Greg, Lucky and Priscilla jerked back, barely avoiding incineration.
The Mighty Greatheart jumped up quickly and adjusted his loincloth. While the others were now used to the dim lighting, he was not. He peered about, squinting, until he spotted the source of the sound.
“Fine, I’m fine,” he boasted, though Greg did notice a tremor in his voice. “Just caught me a bit by surprise, he did. I’ll have another go at him in a moment.” He turned and squinted at Greg. “I suppose you’re that Greghart fellow Mum told me about. Where’s the princess?”
Greg glanced around, but Princess Priscilla had disappeared into the dim recesses of the cell.
“I guess that blast scared her off. Say, are you sure you can do this? I mean, that was a close call just then.”
Greatheart scoffed at him. “You call that a close call? Why I’ve had closer calls going to the loo in the morning. I’ll show that dragon a close call. Where’s my sword?”
Greg thought he sounded a lot like his little brother, Melvin. He picked up the dragonslayer’s sword and handed it back to him, and Lucky handed him his shield.
“Oh, and Mum said you had my amulet.”
“Um,” Greg said. He didn’t want to tell Marvin that he really had Hazel’s amulet, and that the one Mrs. Greatheart gave him was back at Hazel’s shack.
“Oh, there it is,” Marvin said, spotting the chain around Greg’s neck.
Greg had no choice but to drop Hazel’s amulet into Marvin’s outstretched hand. “Now, watch closely while I show that dragon why they call me the greatest dragonslayer Myrth has ever known.”
The Mighty Greatheart straightened impressively as if posing for a portrait. Greg admired him for several seconds before he realized the man’s stoic expression had frozen in place. The dragonslayer’s eyes lost focus and he toppled forward, landing on the hard rock with a dull thud. Behind him, Priscilla stood panting, a large bone from the stack in the corner dangling from one hand. She dropped the bone to the floor with a hollow clatter, retrieved the amulet and the dragonslayer’s sword, and held them out to Greg.
“Okay, you should get going, before he wakes up.”
“What did you do?” Greg screamed.
Even in the dim light he could see Priscilla roll her eyes. “He was about to go out and fight Ruuan. I had to stop him.”
“Stop him? That’s just what we wanted him to do.”
“No,” Priscilla corrected, “that’s what we want you to do. You’re the one in the prophecy, remember?”
“What? I thought you didn’t believe in the prophecy.”
“That was before I saw how far you’ve come. Now get out there and slay the dragon,” she said, slipping the chain over his head and around his neck.
“But—”
“She’s right, Greg,” said Lucky. Then as an aside he added, “though I think I’d have tried discussing the matter with Marvin before I clubbed him over the head.”
“This is crazy.” Greg paced toward the entrance, spun back to face the others and pointed behind him through the crack in the wall. “Greatheart was the only chance we had. Now he’s out cold, and we’ve still got an angry dragon over there.”
He stopped when he noticed both Lucky and Priscilla backing away, their eyes wide with horror.
“NO, YOU HAVE AN ANGRY DRAGON RIGHT HERE.”
The Dragon Ruuan
Greg tried to jump away, but a tongue the size of a Slip-N-Slide caught him around the waist and yanked him off his feet. It was as wet as a Slip-N-Slide, too, but not in a fun way.
Greg felt a momentary blast of heat as the spirelings’ amulet adjusted to the new surroundings. Then everything went cool again as Ruuan tossed him roughly on the white-hot floor of his lair. Then again, the amulet was meant to be used in the passageway. Its magic might not be strong enough to save him here at the source of the fire. That would mean the dragon was protecting him from the heat with its own magic. For what reason Greg didn’t know, but he was struck by a sudden image of Rake playing with a field mouse just before chomping it up and swallowing it.
He leapt to his feet and turned, but Ruuan cut off his escape with a scalding blast of steam. Bart’s haunting voice popped into Greg’s head. He’d face any sensation, laugh at decapitation. Even incineration, or worse.
Greg spun and fled the other way, but a well-placed jet of fire had him sliding to a stop in that direction as well. He gaped up at the dragon, petrified, dreading to see what Ruuan would do next.
In a coordinated effort of contracting and expanding muscles, Ruuan rose to his full height. If the dragon had looked enormous before, now he seemed nearly as tall as the Infinite Spire itself. His underbelly glowed like polished gold, gradually melding into brilliant scales of blue that covered his back and sides. Under different circumstances Greg might have described him as beautiful, but at the moment all he could think about was the sound of crunching bones.
“WHY ARE YOU TRESPASSING INSIDE MY SPIRE?”
“Sorry.” Greg cleared his throat and tried to keep his knees from knocking. “I was, uh, just trying to stay warm. It’s quite chilly tonight. Have you been outside? Of course you have, that’s where we met.”
“SILENCE.”
Greg shut up instantly. His knees threatened to give out, but he somehow managed to remain standing under the dragon’s scrutinizing glare.
“DO NOT LIE TO ME.”
“No, of course not,” stammered Greg. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
“YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN.”
“Sorry, yes I am. I didn’t mean to, really.”
“OF COURSE, YOU DID. THOUGH I CAN’T SAY I BLAME YOU. YOU MUST BE TERRIBLY AFRAID YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE EATEN.”
“You mean I’m not?” Greg squeaked.
Ruuan lowered his head until his chin was just feet from Greg’s own. Greg cringed, trying not to breathe in the stench of the dragon’s breath. The smell caused him to relive the horrible trip up the spire, and while he wouldn’t have thought it possible, the memory of the trip felt even worse than the original experience.
“CERTAINLY I’M GOING TO EAT YOU,” Ruuan told him. “BUT DON’T WORRY, IT WON’T HURT.”
“It won’t?” Greg practically sobbed.
“NOT AT ALL. I’M GOING TO ROAST YOU FIRST.” Ruuan’s face broke into a hideous grin that made Greg want to cry even more. “OF COURSE, IT’S POSSIBLE YOU MAY FIND THAT PART A BIT UNPLEASANT.”
Greg knew the time had come to fight again, but how? He couldn’t fight a dragon. He didn’t even have the magic sword . . . or Nathan’s staff. Why hadn’t Nathan known this would happen? What was all that useless talk about finding his center? And about power coming from a position of peace? Then he remembered what else Nathan told him. He wouldn’t win this battle on his size or his battle skill.
“NOW, ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME WHY YOU ARE HERE OR AREN’T YOU? NOT THAT IT MATTERS. YOU’RE EITHER A TREASURE HUNTER OR HERE TO PULL OFF SOME IMPOSSIBLE RESCUE. WHICH IS IT?”
“I-I came to rescue Princess Priscilla,” Greg admitted, realizing how ridiculous that must sound.
“A RESCUE, THEN. WELL, AT LEAST YOURS IS A NOBLE MISSION, IF THAT HELPS YOU FEEL BETTER ABOUT YOUR DEMISE.”
“B-but, you can’t kill me,” Greg pleaded. “You just can’t.”
“I MOST CERTAINLY CAN,” Ruuan assured him. “BUT JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY, WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I SHOULDN’T?”
Greg tried desperately to think of a reason. He supposed the dragon wouldn’t care that everyone expected him to start the seventh grade when he got back home. Then he had an idea.
“If I don’t return, others will come looking for me. I’m very popular in the kingdom.”
Ruuan grinned even wider. “EXCELLENT. I WON’T NEED TO GO OUT TO HUNT.”
“But they’ll come in numbers,” Greg argued. He forced himself to straighten to his full height and tried to look like a hero. “And there’s one man in particular I know you won’t want to meet. Why, he’s defeated plenty
of dragons far bigger and meaner than you.”
Ruuan’s grin disappeared in an instant. “YOU KNOW A MURDERER OF MY KIND? I WOULD WELCOME SUCH A MEETING.”
Okay, intimidation wasn’t working. Greg avoided Ruuan’s penetrating stare and noticed again the huge mound of riches barely visible below the dragon’s tail. A second idea struck him. “If you let me go I could bring you treasure.”
“HMM,” said the dragon. “I DO LIKE TREASURE.” Greg gazed up hopefully. “BUT AS YOU CAN SEE I HAVE PLENTY.”
“You can never have enough treasure. Besides, I can give you special things. Things you can’t get anywhere else.”
“REALLY,” Ruuan said skeptically. “WHAT SORT OF THINGS?”
“How about a magic amulet? I’ll bet you don’t have one of those.”
The dragon’s expression shifted. If Greg hadn’t liked it before, he liked it even less now. “WHAT AMULET? LET ME SEE IT.”
“Not so fast. There’s still the matter of the princess.”
“SHOW IT TO ME.” Ruuan’s booming voice shook the walls as it bounced around the cavern.
Something sticky splattered across Greg’s face and burned his skin in spite of any protective magic. Heart racing, Greg groped for the amulet about his neck, slipped it over his head and held it out by the chain. His hand shook so badly the amulet must have looked like nothing more than a blur.
Ruuan squinted, trying to focus. Then the dragon’s brow creased, his pupils flashed a bright red, and he met Greg’s eye with a hateful glare. “THIEF! HOW DARE YOU OFFER ME MY OWN AMULET IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR LIFE?”
In his panic Greg had forgotten that the Amulet of Ruuan once belonged to Ruuan himself.
“I—I—”
“SILENCE! WHERE DID YOU GET THIS?”
Greg held his tongue.
“WELL?”
“You told me to be silent,” Greg whimpered.
“DO NOT MOCK ME, MORTAL. WHERE DID YOU GET MY AMULET?”
“From the Witch Hazel,” Greg told him. “I didn’t think it was yours, I swear.”
