How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [28]
“The only thing you can, Greg. Go along with her. It’s not wise to disagree with someone who wields that much power.”
Greg decided Nathan wasn’t any better at counseling than he was at consoling. “What kind of advice is that?”
“Advice that may just save your life. Now, get to sleep. You’ll want to be fresh in the morning.”
“Yes, of course,” Greg grumbled. “Wouldn’t want to be tired when I’m killed by the witch.” He closed his eyes then, not that it was any less black with them open, and tried again to sleep. If Nathan had thought to be reassuring, he’d fallen well short of the mark. Greg lay awake for nearly an hour longer, long enough to count thirty-eight more blood-curdling screams.
Thirty-nine.
Surely he’d have stayed up all night if not for the shadowcat snuggled up under his chin. But once his new pet started to purr, the soft, rumbling sound worked its way into Greg’s head and drained the energy from him. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have stayed alert then. As proof, the shadowcat flipped its tail into Greg’s mouth, and though Greg coughed and sputtered, he never once opened his eyes. In spite of the random shrieks, in spite of a continuous series of nightmares that threatened to shock him awake at any moment, Greg slept the night through, waking only after the sun had filled the forest with a welcome light. Even if it was a gray and dismal light.
Morning had arrived, and it was time for Greg to search out the witch.
Witch Hazel
Greg quickly shut his eyes again. Hopefully no one had noticed him awake. He could smell meat frying, which led him to believe Lucky must be rooting around in his pack, and he was hungry enough to eat anything in that pack including, possibly, Lucky’s arm, but he didn’t dare move. Once the others realized he was awake, they’d expect him to go out in search of Hazel.
“Oh, good, you’re up.”
Greg groaned. He swore he hadn’t moved. He opened his eyes to see Nathan’s face beaming down at him.
“I hope you’re well rested,” Nathan said. “It’s going to be a long day.”
Lucky stopped digging in his pack and asked, “How would you like your eggs, Greg?”
“At home?”
“Still got your sense of humor. That’s good. You’ll probably need it.”
Greg ate breakfast as slowly as he could and continued long after he was full, but in spite of his best efforts eventually finished everything Lucky put before him. Lucky had long since rolled up Greg’s bedding and stuffed it into his pack. He stood now next to Nathan, the two of them hovering impatiently over Greg.
“Ready?” Nathan asked.
“Not really.”
Nathan offered a hand. Greg pretended not to notice. Nathan didn’t notice him not noticing. He grasped Greg’s tunic and easily lifted Greg to his feet.
“Now, you know what you need?” asked Lucky.
“I think so,” Greg said, pressing the wrinkles from his tunic. “Let’s see. There’s dragon spit, an eternal light . . . oh, yeah, and a fireproofing spell.”
“I want you to take this with you,” Nathan said, holding out his weathered staff. “Be careful with it, though. I want it back in one piece when you return.”
Greg took the proffered staff and held it out at arm’s length. “What is it?”
“A stick,” said Nathan.
“I can see that. I mean what does it do?”
“It doesn’t do anything. You just hold it while you walk. It helps you balance and hop over puddles and things.”
“Really, Greg,” said Lucky. “Haven’t you ever used a walking stick before?”
Greg frowned back at him.
“I guess we’re ready then,” said Nathan.
“We?” said Greg.
“Well, you.”
Lucky stepped behind Greg and nudged him forward in the same annoying way the Enchanted Forest had done two days ago. Greg tried to slink away, but Nathan stepped up from his other side and pressed forward as well, leaving Greg no choice but to shuffle toward the dilapidated footbridge, where he stopped just short of the rotted wood.
A sudden rustling sounded in the forest. Anywhere else on Myrth it would have been perfectly at home, but here it stuck out like a—well, like a rustling in an otherwise deathly quiet forest. Greg witnessed