How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [40]
“Excellent, Greg,” Nathan said, as Greg repeated one particularly difficult move. “It’s as if you were meant to do this.”
Greg frowned, thinking Nathan was referring to the prophecy, but then he realized the man was offering a genuine compliment. Greg really was a natural at chikan. The other night Nathan had let the boys spar, and Greg found he was able to disarm and pin Lucky, who Nathan claimed to be the second best he’d ever taught, every two out of three matches.
For once in his life Greg actually felt strong, making him wonder if he might actually be building muscle on this adventure. He hoped so. Sure he was short, but maybe when he got home to his first day of school he wouldn’t be the scrawniest kid in class as well.
Only his first day of school had come and gone long ago, hadn’t it? It seemed as if he’d been hiking in the woods of Myrth forever. By now his parents must have given up all hope of ever finding him, and his friends had probably forgotten he even existed.
What friends? Greg caught himself thinking. He scowled and stabbed the air with his stick the way Nathan demonstrated.
“Breathe,” Nathan scolded. “Breathe.”
Greg moaned. “Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?” he asked Lucky at breakfast.
“What’s a truck?”
Nathan paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “I think Greg was being facetious, Lucky. A truck is a sort of magic wagon.”
Greg looked at Nathan. “How do you know what a truck is?”
Nathan regarded him coolly. “I know many things.”
“Yes, but this thing isn’t possible for you to know.”
Nathan smiled. “Look at you, telling me what is possible. But you must realize, Myrth is not the only world I have seen. You, of all people, should be able to identify with that.”
“Oh.” Greg had never stopped to consider King Peter’s magicians might have brought others to Myrth. “What other worlds have you been to?”
“Ah, well, my home planet of Gyrth for one, but that is something I am not willing to discuss. I suggest you worry more about your own affairs.”
Greg didn’t need to be told to worry. He had kept going over the upcoming conversation with Simon in his head, and each time the scene played out the same. He heard the prophet saying that there had been no mistake. “Of course, the prophecy was meant for Greghart from Earth. Why, Greatheart from Myrth just wouldn’t make any sense.”
A part of Greg—a very small part that he’d have stomped out of existence if ever he caught it lurking about—also fretted that even if he did get out of this and make it safely back home, Marvin Greatheart might not show up in time to rescue Princess Priscilla. Greg wished there were some way he could help the princess, short of fighting Ruuan himself, of course, but clearly there was nothing he could do. Best not to dwell on the matter. Instead he focused on his promise to Queen Pauline to take note of the scenery. She was right. The forests here were incredible, even more exciting than those described on the pages of his journal. He didn’t even need to make up monsters to chase him here. They really were lurking behind every bush.
Wait, she said this would be pleasing.
“Trolls!”
Little more than a gasp to start with, the sound cut off in Lucky’s throat. Greg got the message just the same.
Nathan rushed forward and peered through the bushes. “How many?”
“Half dozen,” Lucky whispered.
“About six more than we want to tackle, then,” Nathan surmised. He motioned to the boys, and the three of them slipped into the brush to hide.
Within seconds the trolls were upon them. Smelly, hulking beasts with sloped foreheads and dull looks across their ugly faces. Like a half dozen Manny Malices. Only in all the years he’d know him, Greg couldn’t recall a single instance when Manny had sniffed the air in search of prey.
Greg held his breath as they passed and silently congratulated himself for not screaming, even if his ability to keep quiet was largely due to the tightness of the hand Nathan clamped over