How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [41]
Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “Lucky we were downwind of the beasts.”
Greg thrashed his head about, trying to shake the putrid troll stench from his nostrils. “You sure the upwind side wouldn’t have been luckier?”
Nathan glanced around the woods. “I must say, I am surprised. Normally I wouldn’t expect to hike an hour anywhere on Myrth without running afoul of at least one hideous creature or another. It’s hard to believe these are the first we have seen.”
“Ah, it was nothing,” said Lucky, dragging his toe through the dirt.
Greg had to admit fortune had been on their side, but he also imagined a forest on Myrth was the last place he wanted to be when his luck ran out. Maybe the last place he would be.
Lucky pointed ahead to a lush section of forest. “Wiccan Wood.”
“Wiccan?” Greg repeated nervously. “Are there more witches here?”
“Don’t know,” said Lucky, “but if so, they must not be the same sort as Hazel. You saw how the trees couldn’t survive in the Shrieking Scrub. Nature and evil don’t get along.”
“I suppose,” mumbled Greg, but still he kept his eyes and ears open.
He should have focused more attention on his nose.
He was still pondering over a familiar scent when the bushes began to shake. At first he was going to pass it off as just another monkeydog, but then an orange blur flashed behind the brush. Rake wailed in his ear and dove for cover, leaving a series of gashes in Greg’s shoulder.
“Something moved!” Greg shouted.
“Relax, Greg,” Lucky said, “it was probably just another monkeydog.”
“But I saw it move.”
In a flash Nathan fell into sensen stance, staff held out before him, breath calm but deliberate. “Take cover,” he urged the boys.
He needn’t have bothered. Lucky had dove behind Nathan’s legs the instant Greg said he’d seen movement, only to find the spot already claimed by Greg, who didn’t want to face anything that would concern either of his companions so.
A large branch snapped. Greg gathered the courage to peer out from behind Nathan’s knee. The underbrush shook violently and parted, and a huge creature with reddish-orange fur bounded onto the path ahead.
Tiger! Greg thought, but then realized no cat could be that huge.
The creature stood on hind legs like a bear, stretching impossibly far upward, its muscular, human-like arms held wide. Gleaming white fangs curled below its pointed chin, and a row of foot-long daggers jutted out of each paw. Its bellowing roar shook the entire forest, although the sound was nearly lost beneath the ear-piercing scream Greg offered.
Nathan visibly relaxed and lowered his walking stick to the ground. “Whoa, I must say that had me scared for an instant.”
Greg screamed again, but his throat had closed up so tightly, he managed little more than a squeak.
“Relax, Greg,” said Nathan. “It’s just a bollywomp. It won’t hurt you.”
Greg tried again to speak, but no sound would come. He shot Nathan a look that suggested he didn’t believe for a second this creature wouldn’t hurt him.
Lucky stood up. “He’s right, Greg. Bollywomps don’t like the way people taste. They only eat rabbits and mice and things.”
The bollywomp roared again, and Greg offered a sidelong glance at Lucky. “It’d have to eat at least one person before it knew whether it liked the taste, right?”
Lucky’s eyes darted back to the bollywomp, but the creature dropped to all fours just then and started to wander off. “See, nothing to worry about.”
Then the bollywomp paused and sniffed the air in the same disturbing way the group of trolls had done earlier. Greg’s breath caught in his throat. He could only pray the creature couldn’t smell fear, because he was drenched in it. The bollywomp met his eye, and Greg released a feeble whimper.
Suddenly the beast charged, bounding toward the three of them, though Greg was sure it was after him alone. The bollywomp sprang, its muscular arms with their razor-sharp claws slashing the air.
Even if Greg’s eyes hadn’t been squeezed tightly shut, he would have likely missed the blur of Nathan’s swing. The bollywomp