How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [66]
Melvin looked like he wanted to say something, but instead crawled to his feet and stormed off down the trail.
“Ungrateful guttersnipe,” Lucky said. “He didn’t even thank you.”
“Thank me?” said Greg. “I half expected him to tell me his brother would have done better.”
“The boy definitely has issues,” said Nathan, and for the first time since Priscilla was taken, all three of them smiled.
Greg noticed Bart hopping about, talking to himself. “What’s wrong, Bart?”
The bard threw up a hand. “Hang on. With but a stick, not a sword, not a dagger . . . he struck the troll and made him stagger. This is great stuff. I think I can get a whole song out of this one incident alone.”
Nathan frowned. “We better go. Where there’s one troll there’s likely to be more, and Melvin’s out there alone.”
“I don’t think we need to worry about Melvin,” said Greg. “I’m sure he’ll keep his eyes open from here on out.”
“I meant he’s where we can’t see him,” Nathan clarified.
“Oh,” said Greg, “right.”
Nathan headed after Melvin, followed closely by Lucky and Bart. Greg stayed temporarily behind. He jogged up the trail a few seconds later, a new tree branch in his hand.
“Everyone should have a stick,” Greg reminded the others.
Hart of a Leader
“What is that?” Greg asked. The clamor arising from the woods to the east was so loud, Greg could only pray they had stumbled across a whole den of monkeydogs. He asked the others if they thought this might be the case.
“Too loud for monkeydogs,” said Lucky.
“I think I’d be concerned if it were,” Nathan noted.
Greg raised his walking stick and waited anxiously as the noise grew louder.
And louder.
And louder still, a little too reminiscent of the herd of stampeding falchions at Fey Field.
“I can’t imagine what could possibly make such a sound,” Nathan said. “We must hide. With luck the danger will pass.”
Greg crouched in the bushes next to Melvin as, unbelievably, the noise continued to grow. At least Melvin was trembling too, Greg noticed. To their left, Lucky and Bart hid behind a heavy bole. High above them Nathan climbed, trying to get a better look.
“It’s a crossroads. Well, I’ll be.” Nathan let out a shrill whistle and scrambled down from the tree. From within the forest a man’s voice rang out. The noise ended abruptly, leaving a sudden quiet that seemed worse by comparison.
“Hail,” a man’s voice called from a distance. “Who goes there, friend or foe?”
“Nathaniel Caine,” Nathan called, “accompanied by Lucky Day of Pendegrass Castle; the talented bard, Bart, of the Kingdom of Myrth; Melvin Greatheart, brother to Marvin Greatheart, the famous dragonslayer; and the legendary Greghart, also of dragon-slaying fame.”
The bushes rattled in a much more monkeydog sort of way, and a lone man stepped from the woods. He wore a bright, royal blue tunic over loose-fitting trousers and walked with the rigid posture of a soldier.
“Nathaniel,” the man cried, “I can’t believe we found you.” A huge scar split his heavily weathered face, and Greg might have found him frightening if not for the deep smile lines around his eyes.
Nathan’s face broke into a grin. “Ryder Hawkins, my old friend. It’s been a long time.”
“Considering the type of circumstances in which we typically meet, not long enough.”
Greg and Lucky exchanged curious glances. In all their hours spent on the trail, Nathan had revealed almost nothing of his life before their meeting in the Molten Moor. He was a man of secrets, and Greg worried that if pressed too hard, Nathan might abandon him in his quest.
Nathan laughed. He and the stranger banged chests in a quick hug and slapped each other’s backs.
Then the stranger regarded Greg curiously. “So I’m guessing this is the Mighty Greghart everyone’s talking about, more proof that it’s not size but spirit that matters.” He reached a heavily callused hand Greg’s way, and Greg stared at it dumbly.
“Well, shake