How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [59]
“Hundreds,” said Lucky. “Maybe thousands.”
“Ridiculous. Falchions don’t travel in groups.”
“We know that, too,” said Nathan, “but Lucky’s right. I’d say five hundred, maybe more.”
Greg met Bart’s eye. “It’s almost as if someone herded them together specifically to set them on us. It wouldn’t be the first trap that has been sprung on me this journey.”
Lucky quickly explained about the footbridge on the edge of the Shrieking Scrub and the bollywomp attack in Wiccan Wood.
Bart was not as upset by the news as Greg would have liked. In fact, the bard hadn’t stopped smiling. “Oh, sorry, Greghart. It’s a terrible thing that someone’s out to get you, but—well, think of the songs.”
“Bart,” Priscilla scolded. “That’s a bit callous, don’t you think?”
“I said it was a terrible thing.” He reached up and wiped the grin off his own face.
“Are you sure he’s not out to kill me?” Greg asked.
“You don’t have to worry about Bart,” Priscilla assured him. “He’s been like an uncle to me. Even Father trusts him to carry messages for the crown from time to time.”
Greg eyed the bard suspiciously. “If you say so.” He made a mental note to keep his distance from the bard, just in case. But then Rake strolled up and rubbed affectionately against Bart’s shins. Greg didn’t know why, but he was sure Rake would know if Bart meant him harm.
At least he adamantly hoped so.
“Say, would you all mind if I tagged along with you a while?” asked Bart.
“Sure,” Lucky shrugged. “Why not?”
Because he might be trying to kill me, Greg thought.
Rake rolled over on his back so Bart could scratch his stomach.
“Oh, excellent,” Bart said. “Think how much better my songs will be if I get to know Greghart personally.”
“Do you have any new songs, Bart?” asked Priscilla.
“Of course. I haven’t seen you in a shadowcat’s age. Why, you’ve probably not even heard my Ballad of Greghart.”
“I’m not sure,” said Priscilla. “How does it go?”
Bart smiled and raised his lute as if about to play.
“Wait!” said Greg. “Isn’t that the one about decapitation and incineration?”
Bart’s smile widened. “I’m flattered you remembered.”
“Don’t you have anything else?”
“Oh . . . ” Bart said uncertainly, “um, sure. Well, here’s one I think you’ll enjoy.” He put his hand to the lute, strummed the instrument once and allowed the tone to die away to nothing, then he burst into song.
For all who knew the dragon Ruuan,
It’s so hard to believe
A boy alone would raid his home,
A princess to retrieve.
The beast be there to guard its lair
Within the glowing spire,
And the boy would be toast, when the dragon roast-
-ed him with his scorching fire.
O’—
“Stop!” Greg shouted.
“What’s wrong, Greghart?” asked Bart.
“We don’t have time for this. I say break’s over.” Under his breath he added, “I’m about as relaxed as I’m going to get.”
“We’re here!” Priscilla announced.
It had been a long day. Already the sun dipped low in the sky. Priscilla pointed to her left, where two streaks of mud split the weeds bordering the forest. “The castle is just a few miles down Pendegrass Highway.”
Greg hurried in the direction she pointed. Before long they passed a small group of people traveling in the opposite direction, a well-dressed couple and their three daughters. When the girls spotted Greg their eyes bugged out, and they whispered and giggled excitedly.
“Lovely evening, don’t you think?” Lucky said as Greg’s group rushed past. The wife smiled, and the husband took off his cap and bowed stiffly, but Greg and the others were already gone.
A short way farther a second family passed, another couple and their two small boys. Again Lucky greeted them. The boys pointed and screamed Greg’s name, each shouldering the other out of the way to get a better look. Even the parents grew flustered, gawking not only at Greg but at Priscilla as well, as if not in the habit of meeting royalty. But neither party stopped. As rushed as Greg’s group was, the family seemed just as eager to be on their way, continuing their hike in the middle of nowhere toward what Greg could only guess must