How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [31]
When Greg’s fingers contacted the wood, one end of the torch burst into flame. Greg screamed and yanked his hand back, extinguishing the fire. After the pounding in his chest slowed, he reached out again, and the torch returned to life.
Hazel groaned and raised a withered hand to block her face. Greg might have seen fit to cover the flame if he didn’t find her hand to be such a vast improvement. Instead, he took advantage of the moment to survey the room under the flickering light. In contrast to Marvin Greatheart’s cabin, this shack seemed much larger inside than out. Jars and vials of every size and shape lined the room, covering every flat surface.
“What are you looking at?” Hazel squawked.
“Nothing,” Greg said quickly.
She continued to stare at him, waiting.
“How did you know I wanted an eternal torch?”
Hazel grunted. “Second one in as many days. Not surprising. They all want torches.”
“They?”
“You are an adventurer, aren’t you? Adventurers always want torches. What they want with all that light I’ll never understand.”
“You say someone else came recently?” Greg said. “He didn’t happen to be Marvin Greatheart, did he?”
“Marvin Greatheart?” Hazel cackled. “The dragonslayer? Certainly not. Far from it. In fact, he wasn’t a he at all. She was a she, and a tiny thing at that.” She regarded Greg down her long, hooked nose and added, “Hardly bigger than you.”
Greg tried to stand taller.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Hazel said. “She had a lot of spunk for a stillborn.”
“A what?”
“A woman who has never explored her potential. You understand. A non-witch.”
“Oh.”
“Bit of a loon, though, if you ask me. Actually planned to go off hunting dragons, if you can believe that.” Hazel shook her head sadly. “Like a mere child would last a blink of an eye against a dragon.”
Greg’s palms were so wet the torch nearly slipped through his fingers.
“Now, what else did you need, little one?” Hazel asked in the same voice she might have used to suggest ways Greg might better view the inside of her oven.
Greg studied his feet. “Um . . . a fireproofing spell . . .” He peered up at the witch to judge her reaction. “. . . and some dragon spit.”
“Dragon spit?” Hazel screeched. “What would a boy your size want with that?”
Greg rehearsed his answer before he said it, but even he had trouble believing. “I’m . . . uh . . . headed to a dragon’s lair myself. They say I’m supposed to slay Ruuan.”
The witch’s head snapped up. Hard to believe she could move so quickly. “You’re Greghart?”
“Greg Hart,” Greg corrected. “Two words.”
Hazel tottered forward and peered at him more closely. Greg tried not to tremble. He longed to shift the torch to his other hand but needed that one to hold Nathan’s staff.
“You don’t look like much of a dragonslayer,” Hazel finally said.
“I’m not,” Greg admitted. “I’ve never slayed a dragon in my life.”
“Not even one,” Hazel asked. “Are you sure?”
“Why does everyone here think I would forget something like that?”
Hazel continued to stare. “So you are the Mighty Greghart. I’ll be. Very well, I’ll give you the things you need.”
“You will?”
“For a price, of course.”
Greg’s heart sank. It never occurred to him Hazel might want something in return. He didn’t have any money. Or would she expect him to pay in bat wings, or eye of newt?
“W-what price would you ask?”
Hazel’s eyes flashed wickedly. “Almost nothing. Just those two amulets you wear about your neck.”
Greg’s hand reflexively jumped to the lumps beneath his tunic. “Ow!” He rubbed at the mark Nathan’s staff left on his forehead.
“Careful, small one. You want to get back to your friends alive, don’t you?”
Greg had an idea she wasn’t talking about his accident with the staff. “How did you know about the amulets?” he whispered.
“I know many things,” Hazel assured him.
Greg could read the expression beneath