husband. “I was talking to Greghart. How about it, dear? It’s not a good idea to go out hunting dragons on an empty stomach, you know.”
Greg willed his legs to move, but they didn’t seem in the mood.
“Of course, you might want to put on some clothes first,” Edna added.
Somehow Greg found the strength to leap from the pallet and yank on his tunic and tights.
“That’s the spirit,” said Norman. “I pity the dragon who’s got to face this boy.”
Any spirit Greg might have possessed disappeared instantly at the mention of the dragon. He strapped on his boots and staggered to the table, feeling as if he’d left his legs back in the Enchanted Forest.
“I don’t think the dragon has anything to worry about,” noted Melvin from his seat at the table.
“Now, don’t you start this morning,” Edna warned.
Melvin shot Greg a hateful glare but shut up as he was asked. Edna served up some of the largest eggs Greg had ever seen, along with a plate of what Greg guessed to be wyvern sausages. The food was delicious, and Greg gulped it all down gratefully. He couldn’t believe how hungry he was already this morning. It seemed hunting dragons really worked up a boy’s appetite.
After breakfast Lucky gathered up his pack, and Mr. and Mrs. Greatheart saw the two boys to the door. The morning air was so brisk Greg could see his breath.
“Now, do you have your amulets, dear?” Edna asked.
Greg patted his chest and heard the two medals clink together beneath his tunic. His skin prickled from the charge, proof of the potent magic concealed there. Still, Greg felt ill-prepared for his journey. A large part of him prayed Marvin Greatheart would stroll up this very moment and offer to take over. The parts of him left over were more ambitious. They prayed for nothing less than for Greg to suddenly wake up safe in the woods behind his own house.
But Marvin did not show up, and soon it was time to go. In spite of Greg’s best efforts to resist, Edna managed to herd everyone out of the cabin and onto the front walk.
“What about your fireproofing spell?” asked Norman. “You wouldn’t want to forget that.”
Greg glanced at Lucky, who shrugged.
Norman shook his head. “You can’t go trudging up to a dragon’s lair without a fireproofing spell. Even if the dragon weren’t home, that tunnel of his is like a blast furnace. Why, you’d be incinerated in seconds. For that matter, do you have your eternal light, or your dragon spit?”
“Dragon spit?” echoed Lucky.
“To coat your shoes. Don’t you boys know nothin’ about hunting dragons?”
“This is rather new to us,” said Greg.
“Oh, of course, I forgot.” Norman went to take Greg under his arm, but the once mighty dragonslayer’s shoulder seized halfway. With a creak that made Greg long for an oil can, Norman wrenched his arm back to his side. “You need sticky shoes if you’re going to try walking into a dragon’s lair. The ground tends to get a bit glassy, what with the intense heat and all.”
“You’re kidding,” said Greg hopefully.
“Nope.” Norman paused to massage his shoulder with a hand that was large even with the two missing fingers. “You’re gonna need to coat your soles with something. Wyvern spit’s plenty sticky, but true
dragon spit’s the only thing that’ll take the heat. I wouldn’t recommend anything less.”
“Where does one get dragon spit?” Greg asked.
“Well, there’s plenty in Ruuan’s lair—oh, but that won’t do you much good, will it? Course, you have to pick up a fireproofing spell anyway. You can probably get everything you need from Hazel.”
“Who?” said Greg.
“The witch.”
“Witch Hazel?”
“Yeah,” chimed in Melvin. “You’re not afraid of a witch, are you?”
Greg ignored the boy’s taunting and looked to Norman. “Should I be?”
The man stared back with his one good eye. “Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
The Molten Moor
While Lucky discussed
Greg willed his legs to move, but they didn’t seem in the mood.
“Of course, you might want to put on some clothes first,” Edna added.
Somehow Greg found the strength to leap from the pallet and yank on his tunic and tights.
“That’s the spirit,” said Norman. “I pity the dragon who’s got to face this boy.”
Any spirit Greg might have possessed disappeared instantly at the mention of the dragon. He strapped on his boots and staggered to the table, feeling as if he’d left his legs back in the Enchanted Forest.
“I don’t think the dragon has anything to worry about,” noted Melvin from his seat at the table.
“Now, don’t you start this morning,” Edna warned.
Melvin shot Greg a hateful glare but shut up as he was asked. Edna served up some of the largest eggs Greg had ever seen, along with a plate of what Greg guessed to be wyvern sausages. The food was delicious, and Greg gulped it all down gratefully. He couldn’t believe how hungry he was already this morning. It seemed hunting dragons really worked up a boy’s appetite.
After breakfast Lucky gathered up his pack, and Mr. and Mrs. Greatheart saw the two boys to the door. The morning air was so brisk Greg could see his breath.
“Now, do you have your amulets, dear?” Edna asked.
Greg patted his chest and heard the two medals clink together beneath his tunic. His skin prickled from the charge, proof of the potent magic concealed there. Still, Greg felt ill-prepared for his journey. A large part of him prayed Marvin Greatheart would stroll up this very moment and offer to take over. The parts of him left over were more ambitious. They prayed for nothing less than for Greg to suddenly wake up safe in the woods behind his own house.
But Marvin did not show up, and soon it was time to go. In spite of Greg’s best efforts to resist, Edna managed to herd everyone out of the cabin and onto the front walk.
“What about your fireproofing spell?” asked Norman. “You wouldn’t want to forget that.”
Greg glanced at Lucky, who shrugged.
Norman shook his head. “You can’t go trudging up to a dragon’s lair without a fireproofing spell. Even if the dragon weren’t home, that tunnel of his is like a blast furnace. Why, you’d be incinerated in seconds. For that matter, do you have your eternal light, or your dragon spit?”
“Dragon spit?” echoed Lucky.
“To coat your shoes. Don’t you boys know nothin’ about hunting dragons?”
“This is rather new to us,” said Greg.
“Oh, of course, I forgot.” Norman went to take Greg under his arm, but the once mighty dragonslayer’s shoulder seized halfway. With a creak that made Greg long for an oil can, Norman wrenched his arm back to his side. “You need sticky shoes if you’re going to try walking into a dragon’s lair. The ground tends to get a bit glassy, what with the intense heat and all.”
“You’re kidding,” said Greg hopefully.
“Nope.” Norman paused to massage his shoulder with a hand that was large even with the two missing fingers. “You’re gonna need to coat your soles with something. Wyvern spit’s plenty sticky, but true
dragon spit’s the only thing that’ll take the heat. I wouldn’t recommend anything less.”
“Where does one get dragon spit?” Greg asked.
“Well, there’s plenty in Ruuan’s lair—oh, but that won’t do you much good, will it? Course, you have to pick up a fireproofing spell anyway. You can probably get everything you need from Hazel.”
“Who?” said Greg.
“The witch.”
“Witch Hazel?”
“Yeah,” chimed in Melvin. “You’re not afraid of a witch, are you?”
Greg ignored the boy’s taunting and looked to Norman. “Should I be?”
The man stared back with his one good eye. “Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
The Molten Moor
While Lucky discussed
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