How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [11]
“I don’t want to find myself here now.”
“That’s funny, Greghart. Seriously, let’s go.”
“Greg,” Greg said, but Lucky had already started off again. Greg rushed to catch up. The forest followed, and while he might have been amused when the crowd did the same back on the lawn, Greg could only interpret this as a bad omen. Oddly, Lucky whistled while he walked, as if being chased by a forest were an everyday event.
“Lucky, did you realize the trees were . . . well, they’re following us.”
“It’s okay, Greghart. They won’t hurt you.”
“Oh yeah . . . uh, I knew that.” Greg was quiet for a time as he debated how this situation could possibly be acceptable. “Hey, aren’t you at least scared about fighting a dragon?”
“I’m not going to fight Ruuan,” Lucky said. “You are.”
Greg frowned. “Then why are you even here?”
“King Peter thought you might need a guide. Besides, the writing’s not very clear. We’re not sure if the prophecy was supposed to say, ‘Greghart was lucky to survive’ or ‘Greghart and Lucky survive.’ This way we have both angles covered.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Sorry.”
“Can’t you see all this prophecy stuff is nonsense?”
“Shh.” Lucky stopped so abruptly Greg ran right into him. After a quick glance about the surrounding forest, Lucky whispered, “The woods have ears.”
Greg, too, scanned the trees. When a vine snaked its way over toward his ankle, he couldn’t help but wonder if the woods had teeth as well. He was glad when Lucky resumed his hurried pace.
“That’s all we need is for it to get back to Mordred that you don’t think the prophecy is true,” Lucky said.
“Mordred? Oh, yeah, that guy who kept poking me with the stick last night.”
“No, that was Agni. He’s just mean. If that had been Mordred we’d have needed to rush you to a healer. He despises you.”
“But he doesn’t even know me.”
“He knows of you, and he doesn’t think you’re the Greghart in the prophecy.”
“I’m not,” Greg moaned. “I can’t slay a dragon. I’m just a kid.” He stomped to a halt, and might have stayed that way, too, if the forest hadn’t sauntered up from behind and nudged him forward.
Lucky never noticed. “Did I see King Peter hand you something back at the castle?”
“What? Oh, yeah, an amulet. Thanks for reminding me. I was supposed to wear it once I got on the trail.”
Greg fished around in his pocket for the amulet and held it up by the chain. It was about the size of a quarter, pie-shaped, and covered with tarnish and scratches.
Lucky stopped short, and his mouth dropped open. “An amulet? Greg, do you know what that is?”
“I guess so. King Peter said it belonged to the dragon.”
“It’s the Amulet of Ruuan!”
“I just said that.”
Lucky reached out and lifted the artifact delicately, as if it might shatter at his touch. “I know. It’s just that, well, the Amulet of Ruuan is famous. I can’t believe King Peter just gave it to you. I guess it must have something to do with the prophecy. Didn’t Bart mention something about an amulet in his song?”
“Don’t know,” Greg said. “I quit listening when he started singing about decapitation.” He slipped the chain over his neck while he still had one and tucked the amulet down the front of his tunic, where it tingled warmly against his chest.
“Well, I was listening,” said Lucky. “I’m pretty sure he said you’d have it with you when you made your last stand against the dragon.”
“Last stand?” Greg repeated. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“You want to make more stands against Ruuan?”
“No. I—”
But Lucky had already stalked away again.
As the two boys walked, Greg tried not to dwell too much on dragons and last stands, but all he could find to distract him were the towering trees and dense underbrush, which, considering their unacceptable behavior, did little to relax him. As if the commotion from behind weren’t bad enough, loud rustling noises kept erupting from the brush to either side of the trail, too. Greg snapped his head toward every sound, but not once did he catch a glimpse of anything lurking behind the bushes.
“What was that?” he asked, after one particularly loud episode.