How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [94]
“CLIMB UP ON MY BACK,” Ruuan instructed. “WE MUST FINISH THIS BEFORE THE SUN RISES.”
Greg peeked up from beneath his armpit toward the dragon’s back, which although Ruuan had crouched to help, still stood some fifty feet off the ground, and his knees began to melt. Ruuan’s tongue lashed out, coiled around Greg’s waist and jerked him high into the air. Before Greg could so much as scream, he found himself lodged between two gold spikes jutting from behind the base of the dragon’s neck. Next thing he knew, he was airborne, soaring miles above the dark countryside, just moments from plunging to his death.
The rush of air helped clear Greg’s head of the effects of the shadowcats’ purring. To his surprise, the ride felt quite comfortable and secure, no doubt attributable to the dragon’s magic. He might have even described it as a pleasant experience, if he weren’t on his way to trick a witch.
Though weeks away by foot, Hazel’s shack was just minutes away by dragon. Ruuan circled the Molten Moor twice before settling delicately on the inner bank, barely squeezing his wings between the boles of two trees. Greg scrambled to the ground before Ruuan’s tongue could seek him out, then looked up to the dragon for some words of advice.
“DON’T SCREW UP.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to tell me?”
“NO. I WILL WAIT FOR YOU IN MY LAIR. YOU MUST GIVE THE WITCH BACK THE AMULET SHE GAVE YOU, BUT HEED MY WORDS. DO NOT LEAVE WITHOUT THE ORIGINAL TWO. OH, AND BE CAREFUL. THE WITCH IS NOT NEARLY AS FORGIVING AS I.”
Before Greg could respond, Ruuan leapt away, flattening him to the ground under the rush of air wafting down beneath his wings. By the time Greg could pry his head up again, Ruuan was gone. He stood alone then at the edge of the Shrieking Scrub. A piercing scream split the night, leaving him trembling long after the echoes died away.
Nathan once warned Greg not to get caught dead in the Shrieking Scrub after dark. Sage advice, if you asked Greg. But now it looked as if the only way to heed Nathan’s words was to proceed in the dark and somehow manage not to get caught dead before he finished his business with Hazel and found his way back. At least the moon was shining brightly. Maybe he could get off on a technicality.
Greg recognized the crumbled remnants of footbridge ahead. The stagnant . . . for lack of a better term, water . . . of Black Blood Creek lurked invisible in the moonlight, but he could sense it below him, wedged firmly between the banks of the creek. Seeing no other option, he used Nathan’s staff to pole-vault across. A second piercing scream split the night as he soared through the air, but cut off instantly the moment his feet struck the opposing bank. Then the scrub fell into the same eerie silence Greg remembered from his first visit, the only sounds being Greg’s shallow breath and the pounding of his heart.
Greg wrapped his arms around himself. Why did he let Lucky talk him into leaving behind his cloak? With no choice but to go on, he took a deep breath and set off toward Hazel’s shack.
He didn’t see Hazel’s crow this time, but probably only because it would have been too hard to spot in the moonlight. He thought about Ruuan’s opinion of Greg’s chances of survival. He’d been terrified many times on this quest, but at least before he had others with him. Never had he felt as alone as he did at this moment. It was all he could do to keep from turning back.
Even so, he eventually reached the tiny shack. This time Hazel was already waiting on her porch. He marched quite boldly, under the circumstances, up the steps and stopped just feet from her.
“Hmph,” said Hazel, “that Simon fellow really is quite impressive, isn’t