How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [18]
“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