How to Slay a Dragon Page 5

  The ogre’s fist dropped like a falling mountain. Greg ducked and bounced off the creature’s leg, running dazed, fighting to keep his balance. Fortunately, running was Greg’s specialty. The ogre had a long stride, but it was too heavy to run very fast. It was no more of a threat in a chase than Manny Malice had been in the woods behind Greg’s house.

  Don’t trip!

  In his mind, Greg saw the ogre’s foot slam down on his back, squashing him like a jelly doughnut. His brain shut down after that. He focused on the light ahead.

  He ran and ran until the booming footsteps faded and all he could hear was his own labored breathing. Finally he risked a glance over his shoulder . . . and actually smiled. The ogre had given up the chase. Greg’s heart raced, his limbs trembled, and his whole body ached, but he had never felt more exhilarated in his life. With a scream of glee he broke from the forest and was hit by a welcome wash of sunlight.

  Unfortunately, he was then hit by something more substantial. Greg crumpled to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs, as the welcome light gave way to an unpleasant blackness that crept in from the corners of his vision.

  He was out of the woods, but not out of trouble.

  Hart to Heart

  “You all right?” Lucky asked.

  Greg answered once the sky stopped spinning. “W-what happened?”

  He sat up slowly and looked around. Every muscle in his body ached. He was in a large clearing surrounded, as clearings often are, by forest. Behind him the trees stood dense and foreboding, but those ahead seemed less nightmarish, more like the woods back home.

  A nearby moan caused him to notice a sandy-haired boy sprawled out a few feet away. He looked two or three years younger than Greg, but heavily muscled for his size.

  “Who’s this?” Greg asked.

  Lucky gently patted the boy’s cheeks. “Looks like Greatheart’s little brother, but I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years.”

  “Greatheart, the dragonslayer?”

  “Not just any dragonslayer, Greg. The greatest dragonslayer Myrth has ever known.”

  “What a break. Now we can get his brother to slay Ruuan.”

  “No,” said Lucky. “He’s Greatheart from Myrth, not Greghart from Earth.”

  Greg waged a battle with his own body as he fought to stand.

  The younger boy was starting to wake. “Oooh . . . what happened?”

  “Sorry,” Greg said. “I guess I ran into you. You were standing at the end of the trail.”

  With a groan the boy pushed himself to a seated position. “No, I was standing at the beginning of the trail. I thought I heard an ogre and decided to take a look.” He shook his head to clear it. “I remember now. The forest pulled back when it saw me coming . . . and then he ran past me,” he said, pointing at Lucky, “and then I saw you, and . . . I don’t remember much after that.”

  “You okay?” said Lucky. “Can you stand?”

  The boy inspected his limbs with the bluest eyes Greg had ever seen. “I guess so . . . no thanks to him.”

  “I said I was sorry,” Greg reminded him. “I was being chased by an ogre, after all.”

  “Big deal. My brother gets chased by ogres all the time, and he never thinks twice about it.”

  “Then you are Melvin Greatheart,” Lucky said.

  “Melvin?” said Greg. Perhaps, he realized afterward, he should have tried it without the snort.

  “Yeah,” the boy snapped, “what about it?”

  “Nothing,” Greg answered carefully. “It just doesn’t sound like the name of the brother of a great dragonslayer, that’s all.”

  “What would you know about it?” said Melvin. He struggled to his feet. “Wait’ll I tell Marvin what you said. Why, he’ll ride you out of here faster than a band of goblins.”

  “Your brother’s name is Marvin?”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Nothing.” Greg didn’t really care what the dragonslayer’s name was, as long as he could convince everyone that it was Marvin who was destined to slay Ruuan. Greg tried to help Melvin to his feet, but the boy yanked his hand back and would accept help only from Lucky.

  “Well, if you’re all right,” Lucky told Melvin,” we need to be on our way.”

  “Wait,” blurted Greg. “It’s getting late, don’t you think? Maybe we should be looking for a place to stop for the night.” Lucky shot him a warning glance, but Greg looked quickly to Melvin. “Hey, how about we stay with you?”

  “That’s okay, Melvin,” said Lucky. “We’ve troubled you enough already. We’ll just stop at the next house we see.”

  Melvin frowned. “There aren’t any other houses in this part of the kingdom.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll camp here.”

  “By the edge of the Enchanted Forest? Were you planning on waking up in the morning? No, it’s not safe for fools to camp out here. I guess you better come home with me. My folks won’t mind.” He glowered at Greg and added, “Just watch where you’re going, okay?”

  Now Greg frowned. He’d already said he was sorry. What more could he do? He’d like to see what Melvin would have done if he’d been chased by an ogre.

  As the last of the day’s light faded, the three boys trudged up the path toward a small cabin in the woods. If Marvin Greatheart was as experienced at slaying dragons as Lucky said, apparently he wasn’t in it for the treasure. He lived in not a home but a hovel. Large holes dominated the thatch roof, and the rotted wood siding hung at odd angles.

  An older woman in a plain peasant’s dress stepped from the cabin as they approached. She dried her hands on an apron, placed them on her hips and squinted at the trio, frowning.

  “Melvin. Where on Myrth have you been?”

  “The Enchanted Forest,” said Melvin.

  “The Enchanted Forest! What have I told you about playing down there?”

  “I didn’t go inside, Mom. Just to the edge. I thought I heard an ogre.”

  “My word, you sound more like your brother every day. How many times have I told you you’re too young to play with ogres?”

  “I wasn’t playing with it. They were,” he said pointing at Greg and Lucky.

  His mother studied the pair disapprovingly. “And who might they be?”

  Lucky took off his cap and held it sheepishly before him. “Luke Day, ma’am, from Pendegrass Castle.”

  “Lucky Day?” she said. “I’ve heard of you. King Peter considers you a close, personal friend.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  She peered at him as if questioning why this would be so. “Do you know my son Marvin?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve seen him honored by the king on many occasion.”

  Mrs. Greatheart actually smiled at this remark, but her expression quickly dissolved when she regarded Greg. “And who is this?”

  Greg didn’t have a hat to take off, but he bowed just the same. “Greg Hart, ma’am. I’m . . . er . . . traveling with Lucky.”

  Melvin snapped his head Greg’s way, his expression darkening. The woman’s jaw dropped. She shifted her apron without taking her eyes off of Greg.

  “The Greghart?”

  Greg faltered. He hadn’t thought it possible the Greathearts would know of the prophecy. “Well, actually, ma’am, I’d like to talk to you about that.”

  “Oh, my,” she said, poofing her graying hair. “Yes, certainly. Come inside. Norman will want to hear, I’m sure.”

  “Norman?”

  “My husband.”

  “He used to be a great dragonslayer, too,” Lucky told Greg. “He’s retired now.”

  “He was a dragonslayer, and he retired? Alive? I’m guessing it wasn’t a long career.”

  “Probably seemed long,” Lucky said.

  Mrs. Greatheart shooed them all through the door and quickly called for her husband. Somehow the house looked even smaller inside than out. The meager furnishings were the type that had probably never even seen better days, but the place
had a cozy feel, with the smell of freshly baked bread and odd spices.

  Eventually Norman Greatheart hobbled in, looking much like Greg would have expected a retired dragonslayer to look. He wore a patch over one eye and walked with a limp that had a way of shifting from one leg to the other. One hand clutched his lower back as he moved, while the other clung to a gnarled wooden cane. He shuffled across the room, eased into a tattered chair, and with a creak of his neck, turned to regard his guests with his one good eye.

  “Yes, Edna, what is it?”

  “We have guests, dear. Special guests.” She grabbed Greg by the shoulders and pivoted him to face Norman’s chair. “Do you know who this is?”

  Norman leaned forward and examined Greg more closely, his eye darting this way and that.

  “Looks like some boy, Edna. And a rather scrawny one at that. You got a name, son?”

  “Greg Hart, sir.”

  Norman’s eye grew wide, and his mouth formed a perfect circle. “The Greghart? From the prophecy?”

  “Uh, I was just telling your wife I wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “Wonderful!” said Norman. “Always willing to talk to a fellow dragonslayer.”

  “No, I’m not a dragonslayer.”

  “Greg!” warned Lucky.

  “Of course he’s not a dragonslayerartH,” said Melvin. “Look at him, he’s just a kid.”

  “Now, Melvin,” scolded Mrs. Greatheart. “That’s no way to talk about a great hero.”

  “But he’s not a dragonslayer,” Melvin insisted. “He said so himself.”

  “He was just being modest.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” said Greg.

  Lucky tried another loud noise but failed to draw anyone’s attention.

  “See,” said Melvin. “He’s not.”

  “Enough,” cried Mrs. Greatheart. “If you can’t behave then go to your room.”

  “But—”

  “Not another word. Now go!”

  Melvin muttered something under his breath and shuffled off to one corner. (Apparently the house was too small for him to actually have his own room.) As the conversation continued, the boy sat with his arms folded over his chest, glowering at Greg. His expression was, Greg noticed, not much different from Lucky’s.

  “So how long have you been slaying dragons, Greghart?” asked Norman.

  “I haven’t,” said Greg. “I told you, I’m not a dragonslayer.”

  “See!” Melvin shouted from his corner.

  “Hush,” scolded Mrs. Greatheart.

  “Are you saying you’ve not slew a single dragon?” asked Norman in disbelief.

  “Of course not,” said Greg. “I’m just a kid.”

  “Oh, this is wonderful. Edna, did you hear? It’s the boy’s first dragon.”

  “How exciting,” said Mrs. Greatheart. “And to think, we met him before he became famous.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Lucky. “There’s not a man or woman in the kingdom who doesn’t know of the Mighty Greghart’s heroic deeds.”

  Greg sighed. “I’m sure that will all end once Ruuan eats me.”

  “Eats you?” Norman said, chuckling. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Greg ignored Lucky, who had reached new heights as he jumped up and down, waving his arms furiously. “The prophecy is wrong.”

  “Nonsense,” said Norman. “Prophecies can’t be wrong.”

  “But I’m not the one who’s supposed to slay Ruuan,” said Greg. “Your son is.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Melvin is just a child.”

  “I am not,” said Melvin.

  “Melvin,” Mrs. Greatheart warned.

  “Not him,” said Greg. “Marvin.”

  “Marvin?” said Norman. “But he isn’t even here. Besides the prophecy says Ruuan will be slain by Greghart from Earth, not Greatheart from Myrth. You are from Earth, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then it’s settled. Obviously the prophecy is about you.”

  Mrs. Greatheart wrung her hands nervously. “Enough of this foolish talk,” she said. “Dinner’s been ready forever. We have plenty, but if we don’t sit down and eat, it’s going to dry up in the pot.”

  Greg tried to object, but the Greathearts were no more interested in his concerns than the crowd back at Pendegrass Castle had been. Eventually he found himself shuffling along with the others to the dinner table just a few feet away, although if he’d judged by the noises Norman made, he’d have thought they hiked across the entire Enchanted Forest to get there.

  Even Melvin was allowed to join them, though every time he tried to jump into the conversation his mother cut him off with a word. Greg had a similar problem. Lucky kicked him under the table every time he opened his mouth. Under the best of circumstances this would have been annoying, but Greg found it particularly troublesome since he was trying to eat.

  “So, where is Marvin?” asked Lucky.

  “We’re not sure,” said Edna. “He went to rout some goblins out of the hills north of Durchester about a month ago. We really expected him back by now, but . . . well, not a word. Hopefully there wasn’t any trouble.”

  “You don’t—Ow! Would you stop that?”

  “Sorry,” Lucky mumbled.

  Greg rubbed his shin and turned back to Mrs. Greatheart. “You don’t consider routing out goblins trouble?”

  “I meant trouble he couldn’t handle, dear,” she explained.

  Greg quickly lost his appetite. He couldn’t believe no one knew Marvin’s whereabouts. This was terrible. Who was going to slay Ruuan now?

  “You don’t look so well, dear,” said Edna. “Is your wyvern stew disagreeing with you?”

  “What? Oh, no. It’s delicious. I’m just not very hungry.”

  “Well, I hope you’re not nervous about slaying Ruuan. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

  “Of course he will,” said Norman as he slurped up a spoonful of broth.

  “You say Marvin went to Durchester?” said Lucky. “That’s quite a ways to travel. And I hear they had a lot of rain down there this summer. The creeks are probably swelled. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” Edna said. “But I must say, I’ve been worried ever since I found his lucky amulet out back.”

  “His what?” said Greg.

  “His lucky amulet. Marvin never goes anywhere without it. I guess he must have dropped it and not known.”

  “It’s the Amulet of Ruuan,” Norman added proudly over a huge chunk of wyvern meat. He winked at Greg. “I stole it myself from Ruuan’s lair when I was just a few years older than you are now. Gave it to Marvin on his sixteenth birthday, and he’s been cleaning up the kingdom with it ever since.”

  Greg met Lucky’s eye. “Do you think we could see that amulet, Mrs. Greatheart?”

  “Call me Edna, please. Of course you can. I’ve got it right here.”

  She got up from the table, shuffled to a rickety old cabinet along the opposite wall, and opened the top drawer. When she returned to the table she held out the amulet by the chain. At first glance it looked identical to the one King Peter gave Greg that morning.

  “Is something wrong, dear?”

  “I’m not sure.” Greg reached beneath his tunic and pulled out his own amulet, much to Edna’s surprise.

  “There’s two of them?”

  “Right,” said Greg. “King Peter told me this was the Amulet of Ruuan.”

  “Nonsense,” said Norman. “Anyone can see that’s not the real one.”

  “They look exactly the same to me,” said Melvin.

  “Quiet, son.”

  “No, he’s right,” said Lucky. “They are the same.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t trust it,” Norman said. “And you sure wouldn’t catch me going up against Ruuan without the real thing.”

  “Perhaps we better let him use ours,” Edna suggested.

  “I suppose we’ll have to,” said
Norman. “The poor boy would be scorched to a crisp in a heartbeat with a trinket like that in his hand.”

  “Yeah, with the real amulet he might last two heartbeats,” said Melvin under his breath.

  “Hush up, son,” warned Edna. She held out Marvin’s amulet for Greg to take. When Greg slipped the chain over his neck, the two amulets sizzled and flashed, and he jumped back, nearly knocking over his chair.

  “Well, it looks as if that amulet of yours may have some power after all,” said Norman. “You go ahead and keep ours anyway. You can never have too much help on your side when you’re going up against a dragon. Hey, did I ever tell you about the first time I fought Tehrer, the last of the dragons from the Netherworld?”

  “We just met,” Greg reminded him.

  “So, I guess I didn’t then. Well, I’ll tell you now. It was quite a battle. I barely escaped with my life. In fact, that’s how I got this limp here,” he said pointing to his left knee. “No, wait, that came the second time I fought him. The first time he snapped my right leg in two and scorched the hair clean off my head. Took me two years to grow my eyebrows back.” He slapped the table and laughed. “Never could use the eye again, though, I’m afraid.”

  “Could we talk about something else?” Greg pleaded.

  “Yes, Norman, please,” Edna scolded. “You’re scaring Greghart to death with your stories.”

  “What kind of dragonslayer gets scared by a story?” asked Melvin.

  “I’m warning you. One more word, and it’s back to your room.”

  “This is his room,” Greg muttered.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you none,” said Norman. “If it makes you feel better, everything turned out great the third time I faced Tehrer. He may have tore up my back a bit and knocked my arm out of the socket, but in the end I laid him out, and the world’s a better place for it.”

  “Yes, I do feel better,” Greg lied. “Now can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure,” said Norman. “Did I ever tell you about the time I ran into a nest of harpies up at Death’s Pass?”

  Greg shot him a glare, but Norman failed to take the hint. The man shared one story after another, each more gruesome than the last, talking through the remainder of dinner and long into the night. By the time Edna finished the dishes and finally insisted they all retire, Greg was so terrified he thought it would be impossible to sleep.