How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [102]
“Now!” said Lucky, and Greg was jerked through the rift so hard he nearly left his dripping sneakers behind.
Even though he’d known all along what was about to happen, Greg still found himself screaming the entire way down the long tunnel back to Earth. He was still screaming when he landed in the cool, moist soil of the woods behind his house, his face buried in a blanket of broken sticks and leaves.
“What a baby. I haven’t even touched you yet.”
That’s Manny Malice’s voice!
It took Greg only a moment to realize the magicians must have sent him back to the exact instant he’d left, an instant when his Neanderthal classmate was waiting to crush him for no reason other than the simple joy of the beating.
Greg felt a branch wedged beneath his palms. He clasped his fingers around the wood and pushed himself to his feet. In an instant Manny charged, the branch whirled, and the underbrush flattened as Greg swept through the spot where a moment ago Manny’s knees had miraculously been supporting the huge boy’s weight.
Manny was not put off long. He leveraged his way back to his feet and emerged from the brush madder than ever. Greg raised his stick again. It felt small and frail under his grasp, less adequate even than the one he’d used against the troll in the Weird Weald.
“Stop!” came a panting female voice from down the trail. Kristin Wenslow rushed up and strategically positioned herself between Greg and Manny. “Leave him alone,” she told, to Greg’s relief, Manny.
But Manny was not one to take orders. His face had gone blood red, and he pushed Kristin aside as if swatting away a fly. With a scream she flew off the path and disappeared into the underbrush.
Greg was so horrified he nearly missed the older boy’s attack. Manny charged like a raging bull, except that a bull would have surely used more grace. Again Greg’s chikan training took over. He leaned easily out of the way and swept out Manny’s foot with a single stroke of the stick. Manny somersaulted onto what had until then been a large shrub.
While slower in getting up this time, Manny still came, although more cautiously than before. Greg fell into the rhythm Nathan had taught him, whirling his branch through the intricate pattern of motion that served to put his mind at rest. The branch, though shorter than any Greg had trained with on Myrth, felt perfectly natural in his hands.
Manny must have sensed Greg’s confidence. He slowed his charge and eventually stopped altogether. The branch coasted to a stop, too, and Greg craned his neck to stare Manny defiantly in the eye.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Greg said, and to his surprise, realized he actually meant it.
A wise man would have known not to attack. Manny, however, bellowed like a troll and lunged forward.
Greg didn’t even think about reacting. He didn’t need to. He stepped easily out of the way, and struck Manny flat across the waist, doubling the older boy over as effectively as if he’d extracted Manny’s spine. Manny landed hard on his face and didn’t get up again. If not for the moan, Greg might have thought him dead.
“That was amazing!” Kristin had pulled herself from the bushes and was staring at Greg as if he’d just yanked her from the jaws of an angry dragon. “How did you do that?”
“What . . . ?” said Greg. “Oh, that . . . I don’t know, I just . . . hi, Kristin.”
“You’re Greg Hart, right?”
Greg felt his face flush. He couldn’t believe she knew his name. But then, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“I thought you were . . . shorter,” she said, raising her chin slightly to look him in the eye. Greg froze in place, afraid to move. “And . . . I don’t know . . . skinnier.”
“I guess I sprouted up over the summer,” he said hoarsely.
A feeble groan drew away Kristin’s attention.
Manny looked like he was debating getting up. Fortunately he wasn’t good at deliberation, so it would probably be a while.
Kristin turned back to Greg. “You should probably