How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [9]
Like a crack of thunder the chanting took up again. “Greghart! Greghart! Greghart!”
Greg frowned as he took in the crowd gathered outside. How could so many people be deluded into thinking he could slay a dragon? Well, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be here. Still, he hated to be responsible for all these people losing their faith.
“Greghart, my good boy. This way.”
There was no mistaking that commanding tone. King Peter stepped from the crowd to offer a greeting. He needn’t have bothered. As tall as he was, Greg could have seen him perfectly well from across the yard. Queen Pauline was there, too, dressed in her best finery, as was Penelope, though it did look as if the princess would have rather been anywhere else.
King Peter waved the boys forward, and the crowd parted to allow them to pass. All around Greg could hear murmuring, something about being drab and how you could barely see it.
“. . . blatant disregard for the proper coloring of tunics,” he heard one young girl say.
“Hush, Mary,” whispered the woman next to her. “This man’s a great hero.” She smiled nervously at Greg and added, “Little ones. Where do they come up with these things?”
“Well, this is it, Greghart,” King Peter said. “Allow me to say once again how honored we are to be with you here at the start of your journey.”
“About that, Your Majesty—”
King Peter met his eyes with a scolding glare, and Greg remembered what Lucky told him. For the sake of those watching, Greg knew he must hold his tongue . . . at least until he could figure out something to say that might make people listen.
King Peter stepped close and made a show of straightening Greg’s tunic.
“I’m going to slip something into your pocket,” he whispered. “Now, don’t take it out until you’re on the trail, but then you’ll want to wear it about your neck, and you must have it with you when you face Ruuan.”
“Face Ruuan? But—”
The king strengthened his glare, and Greg found himself incapable of disobeying. He looked down at his pocket. “What is it?” he ventured.
“An amulet. It belonged to Ruuan himself.”
“Why are you giving it to me?”
“Lending it, Greghart. I’m lending it to you. As I understand, you’ll need it when you battle the dragon.”
“But—”
“Hush. Now I don’t know just how to use it, but I can only assume you’ll figure that out along the way.” He shot Greg another glare then, cutting off any objections before he could voice them.
“A song, Your Majesty?”
Out from the crowd stepped a tall, slender man in a fiercely purple tunic. The wide grin on his face proved he had no idea what was happening here. King Peter matched the expression.
“A splendid idea, Bart, but just one. These men need to get on the trail. They have a dragon to slay, after all.”
“Of course.” The man approached and stared as though Greg were from another world. It only took Greg a second to remember he was. “I can’t believe I’m meeting you,” Bart said. “This is so strange.”
“For you, too?” said Greg.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re a bit smaller than I imagined. Who would have thought the Army of the Crown would allow themselves to be led by one so young?”
“We are in a hurry, Bart,” King Peter called.
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Bart reached across his shoulder and withdrew a lute he had slung across his back. Then, after an acknowledging nod from his king, he began to sing and play.
Hear the tale, one and all,
Of a boy, who though small,
Took on goals that were tall by most’s measure.
A courageous young man,
From a much distant land,
He was led by his heart, not by treasure.
Tho’ the outcome seemed dire,
He set off for the spire
With no weapons, no horse, and no wagon.
From the House Pendegrass,
Past the trolls at Death’s Pass,
He would rescue a lass from a dragon.
Greg had to back up, for when Bart broke into the chorus he began to dance around the clearing.
Oh, Greghart was his name,
Dragon slaying his game,
And he didn’t fear a thing on this Myrth.