How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  “The eternal torch,” Lucky said.

  “Shh,” Greg and Priscilla reminded him.

  Greg stowed the torch and the sword inside Lucky’s pack, noticing two large lumps in the side of the damaged bag, and then they set out across the valley, tiptoeing their way through the maze of sleeping spirelings. It wasn’t easy to balance with their fingers plunged into their ears, but eventually they reached the end of the valley and climbed to the ridge that marked the edge of their own campsite.

  There they found Ryder and his men still scattered about, snoring loudly in harmony with the shadowcats. Nathan and Bart were there, too, sleeping soundly with Rake curled up and purring between them. But to Greg’s surprise, Melvin sat wide-awake atop the ridge, leaning against a tree trunk with his hands clasped behind his head and a smug expression on his face.

  “Melvin, you’re awake,” Greg said, his fingers still plugged into his ears.

  Melvin reached up and removed an acorn from his own ear. “What was that, Greghart?”

  “What are you doing, Melvin?” Lucky asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” Melvin’s voice was even more smug than his expression. “Just sitting around, watching the sights.”

  “Oh?” said Greg, wondering just what sights the boy might have witnessed.

  “Hey,” said Lucky, “you don’t think he saw—ow!” Priscilla had just jabbed him in the ribs.

  “You’ve been gone a long time,” said Melvin. “But I didn’t mind waiting. The moon’s so bright you can see for miles.”

  Greg scowled at the younger boy. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Just that on a darker night it might be possible to overlook some things,” said Melvin, “but on a night like this . . . well . . .” He let his words trail off so Greg might fill them in for himself.

  “Oh, just spit it out, Melvin,” said Priscilla. “You saw Greg with Ruuan, didn’t you?”

  “How could I have seen him with the dragon?” Melvin said in a sickeningly sweet tone. “I’m sure you slayed him, didn’t you, Greghart?”

  “Oh, come off it,” said Lucky. “So you caught us. You better not say anything, you little snitch, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Melvin challenged.

  Lucky’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He obviously didn’t know what he would do, and Greg didn’t have an answer either. If Melvin chose to reveal Greg’s secret, there really wasn’t much they could do about it. But then what of Greg’s agreement with Ruuan? Would the dragon seek out Greg to exact his revenge, flaming everyone and everything in his path along the way?

  “Hah, I thought as much,” said Melvin, obviously interpreting Lucky’s silence as evidence of a hollow threat.

  “All right, Melvin,” said Greg, “what do you want?”

  “Relax, Greghart, I’m not going to rat you out.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nah. Oh, I agree a few weeks ago I’d have been happy to. I mean, after what you did to my brother.”

  “I didn’t do anything to Marvin,” Greg protested.

  “Except destroy his career.” Greg was about to object again when Melvin cut him short with a wave. “I know you claim it wasn’t your fault, and maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t really matter now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you saved my life. Ever since, I’ve felt like I owed you something. It was awful. I couldn’t even be myself around you.”

  “But I never said you owed me anything,” Greg objected.

  “That made it all the worse,” said Melvin. “Only a true hero could be so modest about saving someone’s life.”

  “Look,” said Greg. “I never meant to make you feel bad. I saved you because that troll was about to club you over the head, that’s all. I would have done the same for anyone.”

  “Stop,” said Melvin. “I can’t take any more. We’re even now, okay? You saved my life. Now I’ll save yours by keeping quiet about the dragon.”

  “Sounds like a good deal to me,” Lucky advised Greg.

  “Me too,” said Priscilla.

  Greg looked Melvin straight in the eye. “You promise you’ll never tell anyone about Ruuan?”

  “Cross my heart,” said Melvin, drawing an invisible ‘X’ across his chest. “Not even my own brother.”

  “Marvin already knows,” Greg said. “But you won’t tell anyone else, agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  The two boys shook hands, and Greg felt reasonably assured the younger boy would stick to the agreement, even if Melvin did squeeze harder than necessary to seal the deal.

  Home Is Where the Hart Is

  As if the handshake had been a signal, shadowcats began to pour from the campsite like rats deserting a sinking ship. In a moment only one remained. Rake leaned forward and stretched out his front legs, then sat licking his whiskers and staring at Greg disinterestedly. Soon after, the first of the soldiers began to stir. Then others joined him, until the whole campsite was abuzz with activity.

  “Princess Priscilla, you’re back,” he heard a voice exclaim behind him. “Greghart, you’ve done it.”

  Greg turned just in time to avoid being trampled. Nathan hugged him fiercely and then inspected him at arm’s length. “Still have all your limbs, too. Well done.”

  “I, uh, lost your staff.”

  Nathan smiled approvingly. “I rather expected you to.”

  Before Greg could comment, a voice rang out from behind.

  “Excellent work, soldier.” Ryder grinned even wider than Nathan. “I’m afraid, though, I must have somehow slept right through it. Come, tell us of your adventure.”

  “Give him room, give him room,” Bart said, shouldering his way past the others so he, too, could congratulate Greg. “When you get ready to reveal your tale, you see me first, okay? I’ll pass the word along to the others, I promise.”

  News of Greg’s return spread quickly through the camp. Within seconds, hundreds of Ryder’s men had gathered around Greg and his friends.

  “There’s not much to tell,” said Greg, his face red with embarrassment. “I . . . uh . . . sleighed the dragon, and then I rescued the princess . . . just like the prophecy said.”

  Shouts of approval erupted from the soldiers up front and quickly rippled through the crowd. “Hip, hip, hooray!” someone screamed, and five hundred men echoed the phrase in a chorus that reverberated throughout the mountains.

  Greg glanced over the ridge to see if the spirelings had been awakened. To his surprise about half of them had already filed into the cave mouth at the base of the Infinite Spire. Somehow they must have known their part in the prophecy was over.

  “Hip, hip, hooray!” the army finished.

  Greg took the moment to scoop up the cloak he had abandoned atop the ridge and slipped it on to ward off Melvin’s icy glare. He then shrugged and held out his palms to show his helplessness in the matter, but Melvin just scowled and walked away.

  “What about Agni?” Greg asked.

  “He’s doing well,” Nathan told him. He winked. “I have a few skills as a healer.”

  Once again Greg knew there was more Nathan was not telling him, but he didn’t care. He was just happy to be alive.

  The soldiers were so excited it would have been impossible for even Ryder to mobilize them that day. Greg revealed little of the details of his encounter with the dragon, so Bart made up his own version of events and quickly put them to song. He played the new ballad endlessly, while the others sang and danced throughout the entire day and long into the night. Not a single soldier slept. The celebration went on and on till morning, louder and more festive than ever before.

  With no chance to sleep, Greg decided to go back and correct the last entry in his journal. He might not be able to tell anyone what really happened in Ruuan’s lair, but at least he could record the events on paper, even if the pages would never be seen.

  But his journal was not under his tunic where it belonged. He retrieved the eter
nal torch from Lucky’s pack and scoured the area thoroughly. Still no luck. The last he remembered having it was in this very same spot, a few hours earlier, when he was sure he would never return from the lair. So much had happened since then. He could have dropped it anywhere. Well, if it was inside the spire, that’s exactly where it would stay. Nothing could ever convince him to step foot inside that tunnel again.

  Although for most of the men sleep never came, morning eventually did, and in spite of their lack of rest, the five hundred soldiers broke camp in record time and were soon ready to hit the trail.

  Greg stood next to Ryder at the head of the ranks. “You want to do the honors, Greghart?” Ryder asked him.

  “You do it, Captain. I don’t think the prophecy said anything about me leading them home again.”

  “Very well,” Ryder said smiling. “MOOOOVVE HOUT!” he commanded, and as one the five hundred soldiers of the Army of the Crown took up the march.

  The trip back over the Smoky Mountains and through the Weird Weald to the edge of the kingdom was a lot harder now that Greg had to walk the entire way, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t even need to worry about monsters. With all the soldiers making noise, any monsters that may have crossed their path were wise enough to do so quickly and well in advance of the army’s approach.

  The celebration that had begun back at the ridge beside the Infinite Spire never really ended, which just made Greg feel more and more guilty about fooling all these people into thinking he was some sort of hero. He debated sharing his feelings with Nathan, but didn’t know how the man would react to the news. Once, during their evening meal, Greg plopped down next to Nathan and decided to risk a test.

  “Ryder’s men sure are happy about this whole dragon business,” he mentioned between bites.

  “And well they should be,” Nathan said. “It’s not every day a prophecy is fulfilled.”

  “No,” said Greg. “Truer words were never spoken.” If Nathan thought the comment odd he said nothing about it. “Nathan, what do you think these men would do if they found out the prophecy was wrong? What if I’d been killed in Ruuan’s lair . . . or something?”

  “Well, luckily you weren’t, now, were you?” Nathan said, smiling.

  Greg remained quiet a long while before he thought to try a new approach. “You know I don’t feel much like a hero.”

  “True heroes seldom do.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, Greg?”

  Greg glanced at Nathan to judge his reaction. “I just don’t think these men ought to be treating me like I’m anyone special. I really didn’t do that much.”

  “Nonsense. You risked your life going into that lair. You handled Ruuan, you brought the princess out safely, and you even fulfilled your promise to the witch without losing the amulets you promised to return to King Peter and Mrs. Greatheart.”

  Greg studied Nathan harder. He’d never told anyone what went on in Ruuan’s lair. “How did you know I traded amulets with the witch?”

  Nathan was studying Greg just as hard. “It was an easy conclusion to make. You’re the type who would never break your promise, even one to a witch. Since you’ve never mentioned going back to Hazel’s, I can only assume you’ve already done so.”

  Greg shook his head, convinced Nathan knew more than he was letting on.

  “I know you’re having serious doubts right now, Greg, but you must push through them and accept what has happened.”

  “If you’re worried I’m going to say something that makes Ryder’s men doubt the prophecy,” said Greg, “I’m not. I understand how important it is to all of them.”

  “It’s not just important to them. It’s important to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you don’t believe you actually fulfilled this prophecy, it will make it all the harder for you to accept your role in the next.”

  Greg’s pulse quickened. He studied Nathan’s face. If the man was joking, he was hiding it well. “Are you saying I have to complete another prophecy before I can go home?”

  “No, of course not,” said Nathan.

  Greg expelled the breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. “Oh, good . . . .”

  “The magicians will send for you when they need you again.”

  “No!”

  Nathan’s blue eyes softened. “Sorry, I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Then there is a second prophecy?”

  “There are no more prophecies I know of that mention you by name,” Nathan said. “Now, I believe that is Pendegrass Highway ahead. It looks as though we have made it home.”

  “Greghart! Greghart! Greghart!”

  Hundreds and eventually thousands crowded in behind the army as it marched along the final stretch toward their destination. Soon Pendegrass Castle rose into view, and Greg could see King Peter waiting on the castle lawn with Queen Pauline and Princess Penelope at his side.

  Penelope squealed and rushed forward in what some might have considered a run. She met her sister with a heartfelt embrace, and the two girls began giggling and talking back and forth so quickly Greg couldn’t understand a word they said.

  Greg had never heard anyone clear a throat in a royal manner before, but Queen Pauline managed it. Priscilla rushed forward and disappeared into the folds of her mother’s robe.

  “Don’t you ever run off like that again!” The queen held her daughter a long moment, then turned her loose and stared with tears in her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “Me, too, Mom. Me, too.” Priscilla hugged her father while Queen Pauline embraced Greg like a son.

  Finally King Peter stepped forward, his eyes glistening with tears. In a resounding voice, so that all could hear, he announced, “You have made me proud today, Greghart, just as I knew you would. Myrth has never known a braver hero. The whole kingdom owes you a tremendous debt.”

  With that the entire crowd, with the possible exception of Melvin, erupted into boisterous applause. King Peter leaned in close and spoke to Greg in a softer, more personal tone. “More importantly, I thank you, and my family thanks you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Greg. “I really didn’t do that much.”

  King Peter frowned. “I see we better get you home right away.”

  He whisked Greg into the castle, leaving the cheering crowd behind. With Lucky and Nathan following closely at his side, he escorted Greg directly to the dim, torch-lit anteroom where the magicians were already gathered. Greg had to wonder if the mysterious men in black robes had ever left the room. Several of them stepped forward to shake his hand and congratulate him on his success, but a few others did not seem as impressed. One in particular looked absolutely furious.

  For some reason, Greg still had trouble believing it wasn’t Mordred trying to kill him on the trail. Even so, he had the odd feeling the magician had been with him throughout his journey. If so, Greg was glad he never chose to show himself.

  “Mister Mordred . . . sir,” he murmured.

  “Don’t speak to me, you mountebank.” Mordred practically spat the words. “I can’t be fooled by your boastful pretensions.”

  “Mordred, please,” commanded King Peter. “We’ll have none of that.”

  “We’ll see how well you fare in your next visit,” Mordred hissed under his breath. That having been said, he shuffled back to a far corner of the room, where he stood leaning heavily on his gnarled walking stick, glaring at Greg.

  So, even Mordred thought Greg would return. But why? Greg longed to question him about what he knew, but something told him the magician wouldn’t be too keen on helping. Perhaps it was the way Mordred was absently turning his staff in his hand, no doubt picturing himself breaking it across Greg’s forehead, or worse. Greg was just glad King Peter was here to keep the magician in line. Nathan got it wrong. Not everyone should have a stick.

  After pulling his gaze from Mordred, Greg thanked Nathan for all his help. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, back when I wa
s in Ruuan’s spire, I smelled that same burnt electricity smell again.”

  “You did?” Nathan’s eyes darted toward Mordred. “Was this before or after you returned the spirelings’ amulet?”

  “After.” It bothered Greg a little that he’d never mentioned even taking the spirelings’ amulet.

  “Hmm,” said Nathan pensively. “Fate is a funny thing.”

  Greg never had a chance to ask what he meant.

  “You ready?” King Peter asked.

  “Oh, your amulet,” said Greg. He retrieved the chain from around his neck and handed it out to the king, who seemed hesitant to take it.

  “I guess I could hold on to it for you,” King Peter told him.

  Greg was still wondering what he meant when Lucky, who had disappeared a minute earlier, came rushing back into the room.

  “Wait.” Lucky hurried forward and handed Greg a stack of folded clothing. Greg’s worn-out sneakers topped off the pile. “Put these on. Everything must be as it was when you arrived.”

  Greg stood holding the clothes, looking at the many faces staring his way.

  “Allow me,” said one of the magicians. He waved his hand and the air seemed to solidify between them, forming a divider that hid Greg from view.

  Quickly Greg slipped out of his tunic and tights and into the jeans, tee-shirt and shoes he had been wearing when he arrived on Myrth. The jeans were tighter than when he last wore them. His shirt, too.

  “Did these shrink?” he asked as he stepped from behind the curtain.

  King Peter laughed. “Yes, you have grown quite a bit since last we met,” he said. “Dragon hunting has suited you well.”

  Greg looked down at his own body, noticing the muscle tone in his legs and arms. King Peter was right. Hours of hiking every day had helped him build muscle where before there was none.

  “Has he grown taller, too,” one of the magicians asked.

  The king laughed. “Boys his age spurt up quickly, so possibly. But even if not, he’s definitely standing taller.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” said Lucky. He reached out a foot and kicked over a large vase, dousing Greg’s sneakers with water.