How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [67]
It took a moment for Nathan’s words to sink in, but then Greg grabbed the captain’s hand and shook it like he was pumping a well.
“Careful, man.” Captain Hawkins pulled his hand away and laughed. “Save some of that for the dragon.”
“Oh, sorry—you just can’t imagine how glad I am to meet you.”
“Started to worry the prophecy might not be accurate, I’ll bet. Well, I can see where that might put me a bit off, too, if I were in your boots.”
“Yes, sir,” Greg replied weakly. The captain seemed a very insightful man.
“Sir?” said Captain Hawkins. “What are you, a soldier now? Listen,” he whispered, as if revealing a confidence, “most my men don’t even call me sir. You call me Ryder, okay? Everyone else does.”
“Don’t let him kid you,” said Nathan. “Ryder commands enormous respect from his troops. There’s not a man here who wouldn’t lay down his life to protect the captain from harm.”
Ryder laughed again. “Which only goes to show, you don’t need to be brave to lead an army.”
“Good to know,” Greg muttered. “Maybe I can do it after all.”
“Hah!” Ryder said with a slap to his knee. “I like this kid’s sense of humor.”
Greg and the others followed the captain back through the woods, where a short way off an entire army of men in royal blue tunics stood patiently waiting in two perfectly straight lines that extended into the woods as far as Greg could see.
“The Mighty Greghart,” Ryder announced, and granted his men leave to cheer and applaud accordingly.
Greg endured the attention until the ruckus finally died away. He took in the hundreds of determined faces and actually felt a glimmer of hope. With this many men behind him, maybe he could defeat Ruuan.
Wait, who was he kidding? He couldn’t win with these men behind him. They’d have to be well in front. Perhaps he could suggest this to Ryder once he got to know the man better.
He noticed not all of the men wore the blue uniform of the crown. One was garbed in a black robe. One of King Peter’s magicians.
“Don’t be Mordred. Don’t be Mordred,” Greg whispered as he strained to see under the man’s hood. Then the man turned, and Greg was only slightly relieved to discover it was Agni, the mean magician who had kept poking him with a stick when Greg first arrived.
The magician offered him a hateful look and turned away again.
Greg started to ask, “What’s he doing here?” but just then the captain barked out a command, and as one the men snapped to attention.
“Maaarrrch!” Captain Hawkins added, and the army began to march double file through the forest.
“Get up there with Ryder,” Nathan said, shoving Greg forward. “You’re supposed to be leading these men, remember?”
Greg gave one last glance at Agni and then rushed alongside the columns of men, taking two strides to their one, until he reached the front of the ranks, where Captain Hawkins marched purposefully along, head held high as an example to his men.
“There you are, Greghart,” Ryder said. “You should be up here with me.”
“Greg.”
“What?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, sir, my name’s not Greghart. It’s Greg.”
Ryder looked down at him, confused, until Greg explained that his last name was Hart.
“Sorry, Greghart,” said Ryder, “but these men are taking a big chance escorting you to the spire. If they hear you claiming your name isn’t Greghart, they’re likely to start doubting the prophecy. I’m sure you understand.”
“Sure, I guess,” Greg muttered.
“Cheer up, son,” said Ryder. “Tell me about yourself. You look a bit young for someone in your profession. How long have you been slaying dragons?”
“I haven’t,” said Greg. “I mean, I’m not a dragonslayer. We don’t even have dragons where I come from.”
“No dragons?” said Ryder, impressed. “You must have some very skilled dragonslayers indeed.”
“No—oh, never mind. Why is one of King Peter’s magicians traveling with us?”
“I do not know. Queen Pauline ordered him to come. That’s all I need know.”