How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [73]
Bart hesitated a moment and backed up as well.
“Don’t worry, you two.” Ryder laughed. “No troll is about to show itself in there today.”
“You sure?” Greg asked.
“Of course. They’re much too afraid of the goblins.”
Greg stammered incoherently until Ryder finally let him off the hook. “It’s okay, Greghart. We won’t see any goblins today either.”
“We won’t?”
“No, goblins are a cowardly lot. They run when they’re outnumbered, and there’s never more than a few thousand gathered at one time in this whole mountain range.”
“A few thousand? But there’s only five hundred of us . . . .”
“You and I know that,” said Ryder with a wink, “but it shouldn’t be a problem. Goblins aren’t very skilled at counting.”
Though the footing through the pass was treacherous, and Greg felt disturbingly claustrophobic the entire way, Ryder was right. They didn’t see a single goblin or troll. It took all day to reach the top. When they finally stepped out onto the rim of a huge canyon, Greg got his best view of the Infinite Spire so far, or worst, depending on how he looked at it.
“We’re here,” he said with a gasp.
“Nope,” argued Ryder. “Still over a week off, I’m afraid.”
If Agni hadn’t been wearing a black robe when he stepped up from behind, Greg would not have recognized him. His skin was a dull gray, and he looked ten years older.
“Are you okay?”
The magician looked like he wanted to speak but only nodded.
“I guess you couldn’t have placed us at the top of that climb.”
Agni rolled his eyes. “I told you I must be able to picture the location in my mind. The clearing at the base of the cliff face was as well as I could do.”
He broke into a fit of coughing then, and Greg felt guilty for his question. “I’m not complaining,” he told the magician. “You’ve been a huge help.”
Agni shook his head and spoke to no one in particular. “I’m helping him to a quicker death, and he thanks me.”
The army camped for a much-needed rest and then pressed on the next morning. They marched for nearly an entire day before Agni managed to complete another spell. This time, when the scenery cleared ahead, they found themselves atop a ridge where Greg could actually see the base of the spire jutting from an ominous black lake at the center of a shallow valley. The army came to a sudden halt. Order or not, plunging to their deaths didn’t seem a sensible thing to do.
Greg couldn’t stop staring. Witch Hazel had told him the spirelings guarded the magical passage within the spire so no one would try to raid Ruuan’s lair, but seeing the spire now made him wonder why they bothered. Just the sight of it was more than enough to keep Greg away.
He forced his gaze down to the angry waters of the lake. “How are we supposed to get across tha—”
Greg’s heart nearly stopped. The valley was not filled with water at all, but with men. No, not men either. Something . . . else. Short stocky creatures with huge, bulbous eyes and glowing teeth . . .
“Spirelings,” whispered Lucky, who had stepped up beside Greg.
Greg tried to speak, but his voice lodged in his throat. He kept thinking about what Witch Hazel had told him. “Canarazas. Roughly translated it means ‘razor teeth.’”
As if they weren’t already threatening enough, each spireling carried a large, double-edged axe, and Greg found it terribly upsetting that not one thought it necessary to carry a shield.
Melvin stepped up to his other side and surveyed the spireling army. “Huh. A lot more than I thought.”
“You’ve seen spirelings before?” asked Lucky.
“Sure. Sometimes Marvin brings me here, and we tease them to see how many we can get to come out of their tunnel.”
Nathan stepped up and placed a hand on Melvin’s shoulder. “I’d like to meet your brother some day.”
“How about today?” Greg barely managed to croak.
“I wish Marvin was here,” said Melvin. “I doubt even he knows there’s this many spirelings living with Ruuan.”
Captain Hawkins peered over Greg’s head into the valley below. “Right on schedule.”
Greg drew in a shaky breath. “We just shaved weeks off this trip. How can we be on