How to Stop a Witch

by Bill Allen

  “THEN EVERYONE DESERVES TO DIE. LET THE WITCH HAVE HER DESTRUCTION. THE WORLD WILL BE A BETTER PLACE FOR IT.”

  Not the result Greg had been hoping for. “But they’ll die thinking your father was a coward.”

  “A COWARD? MY FATHER?”

  “I’m not saying he was,” Greg said, backing away. “I’m just saying that’s what people will think.”

  “But if you fought Witch Hazel and showed you weren’t afraid of the amulet,” said Kristin, “everyone would assume your father didn’t feel threatened enough to bother.”

  “HMMM. DO PEOPLE REALLY THINK MY FATHER WAS A COWARD?”

  “Well, not any of us, of course . . .” Greg said, to which all of the children hastily agreed, “but other people . . .”

  “THIS WILL NOT DO.” The dragon’s head turned swiftly toward Nathan, causing all five children to shriek. “VERY WELL, MAGICIAN, THIS ONCE I SHALL HELP. WHAT IS IT YOU NEED?”

  Unwelcome Greeting

  Mordred’s arms were still raised when Greg felt the hard stone floor of Pendegrass Castle rise up to meet his feet. It was an especially welcome feel, since not an instant earlier he’d been seated just behind Tehrer’s neck, clutching on for dear life as the dragon soared across the border between the Netherworld and the Styx.

  The other children were there too, at his side.

  Nathan? Greg thought. A minute ago the magician had been seated directly in front of Greg on the dragon. Where was he now? The last thing Greg wanted to do was mount another rescue inside Dolzowt’s spire, even if Dolzowt’s boot-clad shins possessed far less threat than the entire sorcerer.

  “Ah, here at last,” came a familiar voice, and only then did Greg spot Nathan standing next to Mordred, dressed not in a black magician’s robe but in his more familiar white shirt and loose pants cinched at the waist by a heavy cord.

  “Huh?” said Greg. “We were just with you in the Netherworld.”

  “Ah yes, but when I returned it was to a time two evenings ago, just after I left. Good thing, too, as I have my doubts that without my prompting, Mordred would have thought to bring you back here once you crossed out of the Netherworld. Best not to think about it,” he said winking. “It’ll just make your head hurt.”

  “But what about the dragon?” said Greg. “Where’s Tehrer?”

  “Let’s hope he’s on his way here,” Nathan answered. “He did agree to help. Anyway, we should know in a few minutes.”

  “Let’s hope he eats before he gets here,” said Lucky.

  Nathan’s face took on a more concerned quality. “Perhaps I should be outside to oversee his arrival.”

  Greg and the other children followed Nathan and Mordred out into the late afternoon sun to greet Tehrer, but too late. The three-hundred-foot long dragon already lay, munching peacefully, on the castle lawn. From the hundreds of thousands of furious shouting spirelings, Greg had a bad feeling about what Tehrer was munching on. “What’s going on here?” Nathan asked.

  Greg caught a blur to his right, one that seemed to originate behind the dragon and sweep around it in a wide arc, racing toward them with the speed of a cannonball. The blur seized to a stop, revealing the gruesome face of an enraged spireling. Actually Greg was just guessing it was enraged, as spireling faces tended to always look pretty much the same, but the tone of the spireling’s voice fit his suspicions.

  “What is the meaning of this? You summon us for assistance, and this is how you welcome us?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Nathan. “Did something happen?”

  “Did something happen?” the spireling shrieked. “Did something happen?”

  “I’m guessing it did.”

  “We come to you in good faith, generously offer our assistance, and how do you repay us? By having this dragon sentry of yours sweep up our lead with a single swipe of its tongue. Look, it’s still chomping on the last of him now.”

  Greg cringed as Tehrer slurped up a tiny leg that had been dangling from the corner of his mouth. The two girls gasped.

  “Ugh,” added Lucky.

  “Oh, dear,” said King Peter, who’d stepped from the castle gate just in time to witness the sight. “Please accept our sincerest apologies, sir. We had no—”

  “Sir? My name is Gnag, and I am no more male than that one,” she said, pointing at Melvin.

  “But I am male,” insisted Melvin.

  “Again I apologize,” King Peter said. “As I started to say, we had no way of knowing you would be here so soon.”

  “Soon? We would have been here yesterday had we not stopped to pick up the wyverns.”

  “Ah,” Mordred said, “hence the wailing. What do you plan to do with those?” His face indicated he held little regard for wyverns. Or spirelings, for that matter. He probably wasn’t the best person to have around while King Peter was trying to console this spireling over her loss.

  “Queen Gnarla wants to know what you have to say for yourself,” said the spireling. “Are you declaring war against us, or what?”

  “War?” said King Peter. “Heavens no. This has just been a most unfortunate accident, I can assure you. A small oversight gone horribly awry . . .”

  Nathan withdrew the amulet he wore on a chain about his neck. He held it up before him and called out across the lawn in a commanding tone.

  “Tehrer, back.”

  Although the dragon stood nearly fifty yards away, Tehrer’s neck swept around so that his head rushed up like a speeding car. Hatred for Nathan and the object he carried was written in every facet of Tehrer’s features. It was the same kind of look Ruuan once gave Greg after Greg hit him with a heavy sleigh at the bottom of the Infinite Spire, not an expression he wanted to see on any dragon’s face, then or now.

  Begrudgingly Tehrer sidled to the north, shaking the castle lawn as he moved. To the east was revealed the start of the King’s Highway and the first hundred of what was sure to be the entire race of spirelings, screaming and shaking their fists at the dragon.

  “Oh, dear,” said King Peter.

  As if an inaudible signal had been given, the spirelings parted. Up through their ranks marched three angry wyverns, snapping at the air and tugging against frighteningly thin chains secured about their necks. Fixed to the other end of each of those chains were four spirelings, who despite being hurled first one way, then the other, managed to maintain a firm grasp on the chains.

  Each time one of the spireling-laden chains swung too close, the surrounding spirelings dodged nimbly out of the way, their incredible speed keeping them from harm. As quick as they were, Greg couldn’t imagine how Tehrer ever managed to snatch up one of them. He could only assume that with an entire army pressing from behind, the luckless leader simply had nowhere to retreat once the dragon spotted him.

  Queen Gnarla was among the first to cross the castle lawn. Greg knew this not because he could distinguish her from any other spireling, but because she was being carried on a litter atop the shoulders of four of her tallest warriors. The litter-bearers stopped directly in front of Greg, their mouths full of gruesome teeth aligned roughly even with Greg’s throat, and lowered the litter to the ground.

  Queen Gnarla stepped off with the grace of an injured rhinoceros. She tried to speak, but King Peter interrupted, pleading for her forgiveness. The queen’s anger over the death of her warrior paled in comparison to her rage over being interrupted. Fortunately King Peter picked up on her expression and quickly quieted, even before she waved him to silence.

  “We do not care about the loss of one of Our kind,” she yelled. “We are more concerned that you have been so careless in preparing for Our arrival. We are, after all, your only hope of survival in this newest development. We believe you should be more grateful for Our willingness to help.”

  Melvin, who had twice before been in the presence of the spireling queen, should have known to keep his mouth shut, but no. “It’s Greg who’s going to defeat Hazel, not you. Simon’s latest
prophecy says so.”

  “Why is this child speaking in Our presence?” Queen Gnarla demanded.

  “I’m not a child. Has everyone forgotten my role in the last prophecy?”

  “Ah, he is the Mighty Greghart. Forgive Us. We did not realize.”

  “Greatheart, not Greghart! Melvin, remember? I slayed the dragon Ruuan.”

  If Queen Gnarla was at all embarrassed, it was impossible to tell. She continued to address King Peter when she spoke. “By making the dragon laugh. Yes, We remember him now. You must understand all you humans look the same to Us. But We are still confused. Why is this child speaking in Our presence?”

  “I’m very sorry, Majesty,” said King Peter. “The boy fails to understand the intricacies of events to come.”

  “I understand enough to know Greg’s going to be the hero,” said Melvin. “Personally I think it should have been me or Marvin, but . . . well, we can’t argue with Simon.”

  “That’s enough, son,” King Peter told him. “Queen Gnarla and I were talking.”

  Melvin was about to say more when Princess Priscilla clasped a hand over his mouth and dragged him away. Her father offered her a grateful nod and returned his attention to the spireling queen.

  “Was he talking about the hero Greghart?” Queen Gnarla asked. King Peter acknowledged he was. “So it is true, what the dark magician said? He has been named in another prophecy?”

  “I’m afraid so.” The king leaned in close, so he could speak to her without being overheard, but Greg had a pretty good idea what he’d said after every spireling in sight gasped, turned to stare at him and muttered, “Demise?”

  The closest spirelings pressed forward for a better look, and Greg could hear the murmur from hundreds of thousands more lined up to the east. Queen Gnarla pushed past King Peter to see for herself. She looked first at Lucky and then, to Greg’s annoyance, Kristin and Priscilla, before zeroing in on Greg. She studied him up and down, took a second, longer look at Kristin, and finally met Greg’s eye. “This is highly upsetting.”

  While Greg would be the first to admit King Peter’s words were upsetting, staring eye to eye with Queen Gnarla seemed nearly as bad.

  “You are the Mighty Greghart, are you not?” she asked him.

  Greg nodded. A murmur throughout the crowd revealed that the others were impressed by her attention to detail. Queen Gnarla basked in the praise for a moment before issuing a wordless command for silence.

  “You have become a living legend to Us,” she told Greg, “as your many heroic deeds are beyond even Our measure. We know you will fight bravely in the coming trial, and We will be honored to fight by your side. Rest assured that after you die, your name will carry on for generations to come. Our ancestors will know that We fought with the greatest warrior the land of Myrth has ever known.”

  “Great,” said Greg.

  “Why the wyverns?” King Peter asked the queen.

  “We heard that We would be fighting the dragon Ruuan. As skilled as We warriors are, We find Ourselves at a serious disadvantage when it comes to attacks from the sky. The wyverns should even up the sides a bit. We have always recognized what magnificent fighting beasts they are, but not until recently have We tried to control them. Under the right hand they can make most formidable steeds.”

  Just then one of the wyverns threw back its head and wailed to shake the trees. The eight warriors who maintained a death-grip on the chains about its neck were lofted high into the air. Annoyed by their weight, the beast shrugged, swinging the spirelings into the ground with eight sickening thumps. When the wyvern raised its head again, there were two empty spots on one of the chains. Two more spirelings dove in to take the fallen warriors’ places.

  “I guess none of them had the right hand,” observed Melvin.

  “Quiet, son.” King Peter dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. “Yes,” he told Queen Gnarla, “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble controlling them.”

  Kristin leaned over to whisper in Melvin’s ear again, and Greg thought it was more than coincidence that Melvin’s cheek moved suddenly into the path of her lips.

  “Ow!”

  “Oops, sorry,” said Melvin. “Were you about to tell me something?”

  Kristin put a hand to her lips and checked for blood. “I was just thinking that those hideous dragons are going to get somebody killed. They’ll help Hazel’s side more than ours.”

  “They’re not dragons. They’re wyverns,” Melvin corrected. “Hey, did I ever tell you how Greghart and I once—?” He noticed the concern in her eye and dropped the sentence in mid-thought. “Yeah, I think you may be right.”

  Preparations

  King Peter continued to appease the queen for what seemed an eternity. Finally Queen Gnarla gave orders for her warriors to stake down the wyverns in the eastern section of the yard. It looked to be a lengthy procedure, so the kids tagged along behind Nathan while he took Tehrer around back.

  Nathan knew no restraints would be able to hold the dragon. He raised his amulet for Tehrer to see. “You will not snack on the wyverns before morning—or any more spirelings—or people.” The dragon seemed a little too thoughtful over his wording. “Let’s make it, you will not snack on, or stomp on, or flame, or harm in any way, anything before morning, or in the morning, or after noon, or anytime at all. If Hazel doesn’t attack before long, I’ll bring something suitable to eat.”

  The dragon agreed, no doubt because Nathan was commanding him with the amulet, and he really had no choice.

  Instead of returning the way they had come, Nathan led them behind the castle, where no less than fifty men in black robes stood huddled on the castle lawn. The king’s magicians had their part to play in the upcoming battle, and they too needed to prepare. Nathan stopped and talked to Mordred for a time, the two of them nodding and pointing at the surrounding treetops, but try as he might, Greg was unable to hear any of the conversation.

  To the west, the lawn was mostly hidden beneath the many blue uniforms of the Army of the Crown. Greg had traveled with Ryder Hawkins and his five hundred or so troops on his first visit to Myrth, and then with General Talbout and his thousand men on his second visit. Now it looked as if all those men had joined with another thousand or more to practice for the upcoming battle. The entire western perimeter had been lined with practice targets, and the men had divided into no less than a hundred lines, where they each stood awaiting their turn with a bow and arrow.

  “I didn’t know King Peter’s men were archers,” Greg said to Nathan as they ambled past. “They all carried swords when we were on the trail together.”

  “Most of them aren’t,” said Nathan, “but they will need to be soon. You don’t want to get close enough to use a sword against a beast like Ruuan.”

  Or a bow and arrow, Greg thought. In truth he hated to use any weapon against Ruuan. It wasn’t the dragon’s fault Hazel was controlling him.

  Greg spotted General Hawkins giving personal instructions to one of his men. He called and waved, and Ryder stopped long enough to offer him a salute before returning to his teachings. Ahead General Talbout was consulting a third man in officer’s attire, who Greg had to assume was General Stephanopolis, the only other general in King Peter’s army.

  “Why so many?” Greg asked. “I mean, it’s not like the Dragon Wars, when there were lots of dragons to worry about. Now there’re just two.”

  Nathan grimaced. “The Dragon Wars were fought two dragons at a time, as well. I don’t know about you, but two dragons is more of a fight than I want to be around.”

  “But you’re a magician. The Greathearts have been slaying dragons for centuries, and you have way more abilities than they do.”

  “Hey,” said Melvin.

  “Maybe so,” Nathan said, “but what you don’t realize is, there’s only one way to slay a dragon. Catch it while it’s sleeping. No mortal has ever stood a chance against one of the beasts when it was awake. And believe me, when Ruuan comes, he’ll be awake.
To answer your question, the rest of us are here to make it possible for this to be a two dragon fight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see. Anyway, we’ll do what we can, but I’m afraid the outcome will be up to you. Either you will win and the kingdom will survive, or . . . you will lose.”

  “Oh,” said Greg. “Well, no pressure.”

  The children watched the practice until dark, then retired to the castle for a meal and on to their chambers for an early night’s rest. Priscilla had shared her room with Kristin while Greg was in Gyrth and continued to do so now. She arranged for the boys to sleep in the quarters adjoining hers, so they would be close during the tense hours that followed. For all they knew, Hazel would attack at any moment, and from what Greg knew of Ruuan, he could imagine the entire castle being burned to the ground before the sentries outside could so much as shout out a warning.

  He plopped down on the edge of the bed he would be sharing with Melvin. Earlier they’d drawn straws to see who got the second bed for himself, although Greg didn’t know why they had bothered. Lucky hid a smirk as he shooed Rake off his pillow and pulled back the covers to his own bed.

  How will it happen? Greg wondered about his upcoming demise. He eyed Melvin while he fluffed up his pillow. Not that long ago the boy had tried to kill Greg. The thought was still playing in Greg’s mind when a knock sounded upon the door.

  “It’s us,” Greg heard Priscilla say. “Open up.”

  Melvin walked over and unlatched the door. Priscilla entered, pushing Kristin along ahead of her. While annoyed over the manhandling, Kristin put up little fight, though her cheeks did redden slightly when Priscilla tipped her over onto the bed next to Greg.

  “You have to go home now,” the princess told the two of them.

  “What?” said Greg. “But we haven’t done anything yet.”

  “What are you talking about? You figured out why Nathan was missing when you first got here, didn’t you? And you went back in time to make sure he came here years ago from Gyrth and again now with the amulet. Now you’ve even gone and rescued him from the Netherworld. Well, I say you’re done. Everything is as it should be. Time for you to go home.”