How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [62]
In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best thing for her to do. The noise drew the attention of everyone for miles, including Ruuan. The dragon swerved in mid-flight and descended upon Greg’s group, now blocking out not only the light of the celebration, but the blinding blaze of the burning woods.
Greg tried to tackle Priscilla, knock her out of harm’s way, but the buffeting wind from Ruuan’s wings knocked him down and pinned him to the dirt. Torrents of dust exploded into the air like a desert storm. Through his tears Greg watched the dragon descend in slow motion, snatch the princess up with its claws. Priscilla’s mouth formed a scream, but all sound was lost beneath the rushing wind.
Greg tried to scream as well. A blast of air struck his face, and when he opened his eyes again the dragon was already rising, with Priscilla struggling under the grip of talons the size of men. There was nothing Greg could do. He blinked tears from his eyes as Ruuan flapped through a slow turn, let out a bone-chilling screech and soared away. Within seconds, the dragon’s huge form was so distant that it appeared to float. Gradually it diminished to a blurry, black dot upon the horizon.
To Greg’s horror, the tiny speck blinked away, and dust settled into the spot where, just seconds before, Princess Priscilla had stood.
Aid from the Hart
“What just happened?” Greg screamed.
“Ruuan!” Lucky cried. “He took the wrong princess.”
“Actually,” said Bart, rubbing a bruised shin, “nowhere in the prophecy does it explicitly state that Ruuan takes Princess Penelope. I guess we all just assumed . . .”
“Or maybe the prophecy is just a lot of hooey,” Greg said.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Greghart,” said Bart. “The prophecy is all we’ve got, though I dare say it has misled me a bit on this matter. I’ll have to rewrite at least a half-dozen of my best songs. Oh, dear, what on Myrth rhymes with Priscilla?”
Greg struggled to his feet. He was vaguely aware of the party picking up again behind him. Apparently the townspeople didn’t care which princess Ruuan took, as long as the dragon left and there was food and drink to be had.
Greg rubbed his elbow. “Ow. What did we trip over?”
“How about villa?” said Bart. “Or armadilla?”
“A vine,” said Lucky, holding up something nearly invisible in the moonlight. “The other end’s tied to that tree. What kind of idiot strings a vine across the middle of a road?”
“No, I guess that’s armadillo, isn’t it?” said Bart. “What about vanilla?”
“Please, Bart,” Greg pleaded. “We’re trying to figure out who did this.”
“I’ll tell you who,” said a voice from the forest.
Greg spun toward the sound, his walking stick at the ready. Nathan emerged from the black woods, less than gently pushing a small boy whose yellow tunic, even through the darkness, shone bright.
“Melvin?”
“You know this boy?” asked Nathan.
“Of course,” said Lucky. “He’s Marvin Greatheart’s little brother. What are you doing here, Melvin?”
“Nothin’,” Melvin spat. “I haven’t done nothin’. And besides . . . nobody saw me do it.”
“So, you’re the one,” said Lucky. “I don’t believe it.”
“One what?” asked Melvin innocently.
“The one who’s been following us this whole time,” Greg realized. His heart began to quicken. “You’ve been trying to kill me.”
“Have not,” said Melvin. He shook loose of Nathan’s grasp. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you sawed through that bridge,” Greg said. “And you put a rabbit’s foot in my pocket so that bollywomp would attack me. You even set a herd of stampeding falchions on me.”
“Oh, listen to yourself,” said Melvin. “Falchions don’t travel in herds.”
Rake sniffed the ground by Melvin’s feet.
“What have we here?” Nathan said. He picked up something Melvin had casually dropped behind