How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [16]
He didn’t know what he expected Lucky to do, but certainly it wasn’t anything like what the boy did. With no apparent concern for himself, Lucky jumped into the path of the approaching monster, threw up his arms and roared.
The ogre stopped short, insomuch as is possible for a fifteen-foot tall monster, and eyed Lucky with suspicion.
Lucky eyed it back.
Not to be outdone, the ogre eyed him a second time, or maybe it just forgot it had eyed him once already. Oddly, it stepped aside, perhaps afraid of the bright orange tunic Lucky wore. Then it spotted Greg and growled. Lucky had been right. Greg should have stuck with the brighter outfit.
Greg tried to will himself invisible, but no such luck. The ogre charged, and just as in Greg’s story about the giant, the ground trembled under its every step. Greg trembled more. He raised his sword high and tried his best to appear menacing.
Surprisingly the ogre slowed, as if it recognized the power Greg wielded. Coincidence, more likely. As proof, it howled and resumed its charge.
Greg turned to run, but a tree grabbed his arm, spun him around, prodded him toward the ogre. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, tried to judge when to begin his swing. The ogre closed to twenty feet . . . fifteen . . . ten.
Five.
Greg was so concerned about timing he forgot to swing at all. At the last second he lowered the sword, ducked under the ogre’s outstretched arms, and scrambled between its massive legs. The dim-witted ogre stared at the ground between its feet and scratched its head. Greg rose behind it.
Too late, the ogre turned. Greg gathered all his courage and lashed out at a thigh.
With a howl the creature swatted the air. Greg felt the sword tear from his grip and heard Lucky scream. The blade had lodged into the trunk of a tree, pinning Lucky by the fabric of his tunic.
Greg looked for only an instant. His mind raced wildly, but didn’t like any of the thoughts it came up with. Even with the help of a magic sword he hadn’t been able to defeat the ogre. Now here he was, unarmed, facing the heightened rage of an injured monster. Lucky screamed a warning, and the ogre lashed out with a crushing blow that nearly flattened Greg’s skull.
Greg ducked and rolled and scuttled backwards, beyond the ogre’s reach, and then he was up and moving, racing to the tree where Lucky was pinned. He grabbed the hilt of the sword, put his weight behind it.
The ogre lumbered closer. Surely Lucky would have screamed another warning if Greg hadn’t planted a hand over his mouth for leverage. With a pop the blade pulled free, and Greg spun to face his doom. “Do something, Lucky!”
Precious seconds passed while Lucky returned to searching his pack. He pulled out the remaining watermelon half from lunch and threw it at the ogre, but the beast batted it down. Apparently its tastes lay elsewhere.
Greg hefted the sword again, his vision blurred by tears, his hands still stinging from the previous blow. With a determined yell he thrust up and out. Again the ogre swatted the blade from his grasp.
Greg knew in that moment all hope was lost. If this were an entry in his journal it could be none but the last. The Mighty Greghart was going to lose this battle, and when battling ogres, one loss was surely all you got.
The beast raised a huge ham-fist into the air. Greg cringed and closed his eyes.
“This way, Greg!”
One eye popped open. Miraculously the trees had pulled back to reveal a single point of light. Lucky bent and scooped up the fallen sword but didn’t return with it. He just kept running toward the edge of the forest.
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