How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [58]
“Try growing up with him. Sometimes he can be so annoying.”
Greg stared at her expression and had to smile too. To think, a few days ago he thought Penelope, with her fancy dresses and pasty white skin, was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
The best thing about Priscilla was that she helped Greg take his mind off what lay ahead, not to mention who lay behind, possibly waiting to kill him. Although everyone kept their eyes, ears, and noses open, they had heard no more music and hadn’t seen or smelled evidence of anyone or anything unusual in the woods since leaving Fey Field.
Now, as Lucky and Priscilla set down their packs for a short break at a nice spot where a fallen tree offered shelter against the wind, soft music filled the air, so close it might have come from their own group. Startled, Greg spun toward the sound and raised his walking stick. Nathan smiled approvingly.
“Shh!” Priscilla insisted, though no one had uttered a sound.
“Over there,” Lucky whispered, pointing toward a small copse ahead.
Nathan motioned for the others to wait. He hoisted his staff and moved in the direction Lucky pointed, his steps astonishingly soundless in the dried leaves that littered the forest floor.
Not surprisingly, Priscilla ignored Nathan’s orders and followed after him, moving nearly as stealthily as Nathan. No doubt secure in his talent, Lucky followed too. Greg’s heart pounded so strong he could hear it, but he edged forward anyway, and nearly shrieked when Rake’s tail brushed across his calves.
Ahead, Nathan and Priscilla crouched behind a tall flowering plant, peering between the leaves. Greg was just wondering if he dare speak when the music started up again. It came from a stringed instrument of some kind, perhaps a lute, and the tune seemed disturbingly familiar. Soon it was joined by a man’s voice, so close Greg could make out the words.
Oh, Greghart was his name, dragon slaying his game,
And he didn’t fear a thing on this Myrth.
He’d face any sensation, laugh at decapitation
Even incineration, or worse . . .
Priscilla sprang upright. “Bart! What are you doing here?”
Greg straightened up hesitantly. He and Lucky made their way over to where Nathan and Priscilla were already greeting the familiar bard from Pendegrass Castle.
“Princess Priscilla?” Bart said. “Does your father know you’re out here?”
“My father knows I can take care of myself,” she said with a huff.
Bart spotted Lucky and Greg, and his face broke into a wide grin. “Greghart, is that you?”
“Uh, yeah,” Greg said uncertainly. He wasn’t about to forget the music they’d heard after the falchion stampede.
“Oh, this is such an honor.” Bart’s smile faded when he saw Greg’s expression. “What’s the matter, Greghart? You seem upset.”
“What are you doing out here in the woods?”
“I’m a bard, remember? I earn my keep traveling the kingdom and playing songs.”
“Oh, right. Well, were you in Fey Field earlier today?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“That’s what we figured,” said Lucky, smiling happily.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Bart said, extending his hand toward Nathan. “I’m Bart.”
“Nathaniel Caine,” said Nathan, the distrust in his voice unmistakably clear.
“I think this is the guy who’s trying to kill me,” Greg announced.
“Kill you?” said Bart.
“Bart?” Lucky said. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve known him my whole life.”
Nathan regarded Bart from beneath a creased forehead. “Pardon Greg for being suspicious, but there was an incident involving music earlier.”
“Oh no, I missed it, didn’t I?”
“You know about the falchions?” asked Lucky.
“Oh, so it was falchions, was it?” Bart said.
“We were almost trampled,” Greg said accusingly. “Afterward we heard music in the distance.”
“No!” said Bart. “You’d have to be crazy to play music around a falchion. Drives them crazy.”
“We know,” said Nathan. “Greg here was almost killed.”
“Then I did miss it,” Bart said, his disappointment clear.
“So you knew about it, then,” Greg said.
“Of course. Everyone knows about the Mighty Greghart’s adventures. Just not the details. How many falchions were there?