How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [85]
Greg was so happy he could—wait, he wasn’t happy at all. “Priscilla?”
“Right here.”
He felt something wrap around him, pinning his arms to his side. “That is you, isn’t it?”
“Of course, silly. I knew you’d rescue me.”
“About that . . .” said Lucky.
Greg’s eyes began to adjust until he could just make out the princess’s questioning gaze. “I’m afraid the rescue’s not going very smoothly.” He quickly explained about the incident with the sleigh, and how moments ago Ruuan had unfortunately been less dead than they thought.
“Oh, this is terrible,” said Priscilla. “What are we going to do?”
“Now don’t panic,” said Lucky. “I’m sure Greg will come up with a plan. He is the one going to rescue you, after all.”
“Would you stop talking about me like I can do no wrong?” Greg said. “I don’t have a plan. I can’t possibly fight Ruuan. I’m lucky to be alive at this point.”
He stormed off and began feeling the walls of the cell, searching for a means of escape. As far as he could tell there were two. One, he could simply step into Ruuan’s lair, where with any luck the dragon would eat him before he melted into the rock, but that option seemed less than desirable. Two, he could climb the wall, squeeze through one of the portals, and plunge to his death. Again, not pleasant, but since the lair sat halfway up an infinitely tall spire, at least he’d never have to worry about hitting the ground. Of course, there was a third option—he could just stay where he was until Ruuan came for him—but technically that didn’t qualify as a means of escape.
Desperate for a fourth option, Greg looped the cell again, searching for anything he might have missed. As it turned out he’d missed the pile of human bones stacked in one corner, where the moonlight couldn’t penetrate. He also missed the pack of filthy rats picking at a more recent carcass nearby. Oh, and he missed the harpy resting against the far wall tearing apart a rather nasty looking serpent with her pointed beak. He made a mental note to try to be more observant.
“Lucky?”
The sound of rapid footsteps interrupted by repeated thuds and associated curses, as of someone running into rock walls, filled the air. Apparently Lucky was having trouble following the sound of Greg’s voice as it echoed throughout the chamber. Finally Greg spotted a dark figure approaching from his left. He hoped it was Lucky.
“Ugh, harpies,” came Lucky’s voice. “I hate those things. They make me want to vomit.”
The harpy paused in mid tear and glared up at Lucky balefully. She regurgitated a small pile of serpent slush over the front of her chest, licked it up with her long, reptilian tongue, and resumed eating.
“Oh, yuck. See what I mean?”
“That’s Gretchen,” said Priscilla, who walked up from behind. “Don’t stare. She doesn’t like to be disturbed while she’s eating.”
“You know it?” said Lucky.
“Her. Of course. We’ve been sharing this cell together for days.” Priscilla lowered her voice and added, “Try to be nice, would you? I imagine Ruuan will be coming for her soon.”
“Ruuan will be coming for us all,” he said. “We need a way out of here.”
“There was an opening out front,” said Lucky helpfully. “Remember? Ruuan tossed us through it.”
“We can’t go out that way,” Priscilla said. “Ruuan’s still out there.”
“Well, we certainly can’t go out the back. We’re too far up.”
Given his choices, Greg thought that soaring through the air for eternity seemed far preferable to any other means of death he could think of—though probably only because he didn’t like to think about any of the other means.
“Would you two quit arguing?” said Greg. “We need to put our heads together to come up with a plan. Now, we could try sneaking past Ruuan, couldn’t we?”
“You kidding?” said Lucky. “The rock out there’s so hot it’s melting, and we don’t have another fireproofing spell.”
“So we just need another spell,” said Priscilla. “Where can we get one of those?”
“From the witch.” Lucky must have realized the flaw in that plan and shook his head glumly.
“We don’t need a spell anymore,” Greg told them. “Remember,