How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [21]
But it had been a very long day. He’d spent hours hiking to the center of an Enchanted Forest, made his way back out at a dead run and fought a fifteen-foot-tall ogre that blocked the exit. In spite of his fears, his head had no more than hit the prickly straw pillow before Greg fell sound asleep. Tomorrow he would go back to being terrified over events to come, but for now he needed his rest.
After all, everyone seemed to think it wasn’t wise to go off fighting dragons without a good night’s sleep.
Greg felt as if he’d just drifted off when a rooster crowed and the first rays of light broke through the many holes in the wall. He tried to roll away, but his muscles screamed out in agony. Greg screamed too.
“Oh, good, you’re finally up,” he heard Norman Greatheart say. “I was afraid you were going to sleep the whole day away.”
“The sun’s barely up,” moaned Greg.
“Morning, dear,” Edna crowed. “Did you want some breakfast before you head out?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Norman.
She frowned at her husband. “I was talking to Greghart. How about it, dear? It’s not a good idea to go out hunting dragons on an empty stomach, you know.”
Greg willed his legs to move, but they didn’t seem in the mood.
“Of course, you might want to put on some clothes first,” Edna added.
Somehow Greg found the strength to leap from the pallet and yank on his tunic and tights.
“That’s the spirit,” said Norman. “I pity the dragon who’s got to face this boy.”
Any spirit Greg might have possessed disappeared instantly at the mention of the dragon. He strapped on his boots and staggered to the table, feeling as if he’d left his legs back in the Enchanted Forest.
“I don’t think the dragon has anything to worry about,” noted Melvin from his seat at the table.
“Now, don’t you start this morning,” Edna warned.
Melvin shot Greg a hateful glare but shut up as he was asked. Edna served up some of the largest eggs Greg had ever seen, along with a plate of what Greg guessed to be wyvern sausages. The food was delicious, and Greg gulped it all down gratefully. He couldn’t believe how hungry he was already this morning. It seemed hunting dragons really worked up a boy’s appetite.
After breakfast Lucky gathered up his pack, and Mr. and Mrs. Greatheart saw the two boys to the door. The morning air was so brisk Greg could see his breath.
“Now, do you have your amulets, dear?” Edna asked.
Greg patted his chest and heard the two medals clink together beneath his tunic. His skin prickled from the charge, proof of the potent magic concealed there. Still, Greg felt ill-prepared for his journey. A large part of him prayed Marvin Greatheart would stroll up this very moment and offer to take over. The parts of him left over were more ambitious. They prayed for nothing less than for Greg to suddenly wake up safe in the woods behind his own house.
But Marvin did not show up, and soon it was time to go. In spite of Greg’s best efforts to resist, Edna managed to herd everyone out of the cabin and onto the front walk.
“What about your fireproofing spell?” asked Norman. “You wouldn’t want to forget that.”
Greg glanced at Lucky, who shrugged.
Norman shook his head. “You can’t go trudging up to a dragon’s lair without a fireproofing spell. Even if the dragon weren’t home, that tunnel of his is like a blast furnace. Why, you’d be incinerated in seconds. For that matter, do you have your eternal light, or your dragon spit?”
“Dragon spit?” echoed Lucky.
“To coat your shoes. Don’t you boys know nothin’ about hunting dragons?”
“This is rather new to us,” said Greg.
“Oh, of course, I forgot.” Norman went to take Greg under his arm, but the once mighty dragonslayer’s shoulder seized halfway. With a creak that made Greg long for an oil can, Norman wrenched his arm back to his side. “You need sticky shoes if you’re going to try walking into a dragon