How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [57]
“They must have been fleeing the music,” surmised Priscilla.
“Yes, but why were so many of them in one place to begin with?” said Nathan.
“And who was playing the music?” added Lucky.
“Hey, you don’t think whoever’s out there intentionally angered the falchions, do you?” asked Priscilla.
Greg’s nerves had been starting to calm since the last of the falchions scampered over the ridge. Now they knotted up tighter than ever. If the stampede had been started on purpose, that made three attempts on his life. So far he’d managed to narrowly escape serious harm, but would he be as lucky next time?
“Wait,” he said. “I smelled it again. The ozone. Just before the stampede.”
“Ozone?” said Lucky. “Then it must be Mordred.”
“It is not Mordred,” insisted Nathan.
“How can you be so sure?” asked Priscilla.
Nathan looked reluctant to say more, but finally he spoke. “Mordred and I go back a long way. I know it seems like he hates you, but he doesn’t. Not really, anyway.”
“Are you friends with Mordred?” Greg asked.
Nathan smiled grimly. “Once. No more.”
“It’s gone now,” announced Priscilla.
“What is?” said Lucky.
“The music. Whoever it was stopped playing.”
Greg looked at her curiously. Aside from a few barely perceptible notes that might have been nothing more than wind, he’d never heard a thing to begin with. It was hard to believe Priscilla could be so sure of the sound. “How can you possibly hear that?” he asked.
She glared at him as if he’d somehow offended her. “I am a woman, you know.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” said Lucky.
Priscilla turned her glare on Lucky then, much to Greg’s relief. “Everyone knows women have better senses than men,” she said. “We have to, so we can recognize danger and protect our young.”
“What are you talking about?” Lucky said, laughing. “You don’t have any young. Heck, if anything you are the young.”
“I am not,” she cried. “You take that back, Lucky Day.”
Lucky muttered something under his breath.
“What did you say?” Priscilla demanded.
“If you were a real woman, you’d have heard me.”
Priscilla’s face turned to stone. She sputtered a few unintelligible syllables and then spun on her heel and stormed off toward Pendegrass Castle. Lucky picked up her pack along with his own and ran after her.
“Wait up,” he shouted. “Was it something I said?”
Celebration of the Hart
“You’re joking.”
Priscilla smiled and shook her head. “No, Greg, that’s why they call it Guano Trail. The whole path’s buried ankle deep in gooey bat droppings. Well, you’ll see when we reach the turnoff at Harpies Ridge.”
Earlier, when the group left Fey Field, the princess was so angry she wouldn’t talk to Greg simply because he’d been traveling with Lucky when she met him. Eventually though, Lucky had apologized, saying he was wrong and that Priscilla certainly could have young if she wanted, to which Priscilla promptly disagreed.
“Only grown women can have young. Even a child knows that.”
When Lucky had opened his mouth to object, Greg coughed and shook his head. Priscilla shot Lucky a smug look and started hanging closer to Greg after that. Since then, she had been talking to him endlessly. Greg didn’t mind. Being a princess, Priscilla had more fascinating tales of adventure than even Greg had in his journal.
“It’s still way better than having to climb the White Cliffs of Darius,” she told him now. “At least the bats at Guano Trail come out only at night. The birds at the cliffs circle all day long, dive-bombing anyone who trespasses through their territory. Of course, you don’t dare let go of the rock to cover your head, so you always end up drenched in watery bird droppings. Eeuuww. It’s so disgusting . . . what are you staring at?”
“Oh, sorry,” said Greg quickly. “It’s just that . . . well, you’re a lot more fun to talk to than Lucky.
“Priscilla smiled knowingly. “His carefree attitude starting to get to you?”
“You could say.”