How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [101]
“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 was 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.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
“Everything’s got to be the same as when you arrived,” Lucky said. “Now, I think you’re ready.”
Greg pressed his foot on the floor experimentally. Water squished out from his shoe and puddled up on the stone. “Uh, thanks, Lucky, and thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I know.”
Greg shook his head, until Lucky broke down and laughed, saying he was only joking. The two boys embraced and said their good-byes, and then Greg stood awkwardly in the center of the room as the magicians moved in to surround him. Under different circumstances he might have been terrified when the circle of hooded men joined up hands and began chanting, but this was one of the best things that had happened to him in weeks.
“Wait. I didn’t get to say good-bye to Priscilla,” Greg said, suddenly remembering. She’s supposed to stand on tiptoes to give me a grateful kiss.
“Don’t worry, Greghart,” King Peter said. “You’ll be seeing her soon enough.”
Just then the air flashed and split apart, revealing another dimension beyond. In the black void of space rushed dozens, hundreds, thousands of bright spheres, a ceaseless stream of radiant stars. And planets, too. Countless other worlds,