Come to think of it, Norman’s eldest son’s continual boasting over his successes as the greatest dragonslayer who ever lived could get quite annoying too. And the best thing Greg could say about Norman’s youngest son, Melvin, was that recently the boy had stopped trying to kill him.
So really Greg was just anxious to see Edna Greatheart, Norman’s wife. Her role as a mother to Marvin and Melvin seemed to spill over to Greg, and on this strange world, where danger lurked behind every bush, Greg was grateful for the reassurance she provided.
It took another hour to reach the Greathearts’ tiny shack, as the trees in this area were just stupid, non-magical trees that wouldn’t know a magician from a troll in the ground and couldn’t have moved to reveal shortcuts even if they’d wanted to. Greg was glad to see Edna answer the door, even if the look on her face suggested she was strongly considering slamming it shut again.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Norman, they’re here.”
“You’ve been expecting us?” said Mordred.
“More like dreading, but here you are, just the same.” Greg and Priscilla exchanged curious looks.
“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Priscilla asked.
Mrs. Greatheart looked as if she never realized she had a choice in the matter. It bothered Greg she took so long to decide. “Yes, of course,” she finally said. “Where are my manners? Do come in, Highness. Norman, where are you? I said they’re here.”
Now retired, Norman Greatheart had once been the greatest dragonslayer Myrth had ever known, though he’d paid dearly for the reputation. He now wore a patch over one eye and walked with a shifting limp. And the sounds his bones made. Why, the only time Greg had heard worse crackling was once at the movies, when the entire family behind him couldn’t seem to break into their bags of chocolate mints. Norman was the human equivalent of a scrapheap, although Greg would have bet on the scrapheap as the more likely of the two to be responsible for the sounds that rapidly approached from behind Edna.
Melvin Greatheart’s face popped out from behind his mother’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. Greg could swear the boy had grown three inches in the few weeks Greg had been away. He unconsciously stood a bit taller.
“They’re here!” Melvin shouted. “They’re here!”
“I just said that,” Edna told him.
“You also said you were going to let us in,” Kristin reminded her.
“Yes, of course. Sorry.”
Mrs. Greatheart backed into the room to allow the others to pass, though the room was so small, they required a quick strategy session before everyone could fit. “Norman,” she called, “where are you?”
“Coming.” Now came the meandering shuffle more in line with what Greg expected. But it wasn’t Norman who stepped from the back this time either. It was Marvin, Melvin’s older brother. As always, he was dressed only in a loincloth, his frame so large, it was hard to believe he could fit into the room.
“Princess Priscilla,” he said, “Greghart, it’s good to see you again.”
Of course it is,
Greg thought.
It gives you someone to boast to.
Kristin’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. She ran her fingers through her hair. “Uh, Greg,” she said in a nervous titter, “who is this?”
Greg observed her glossed-over look and scowled. He realized the shuffling noises had stopped. Norman Greatheart’s face peered out first from behind Marvin’s elbow, then grimaced and rose level with Marvin’s shoulder. The cacophony of popping noises that accompanied the movement drew even Kristin’s attention. She witnessed Norman’s missing eye and the network of scars covering every inch of his face, and screamed.
“Oh, sorry,” Norman said with a wink. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Greghart, my boy. You did come. Good, I’ll get my cloak.”
Mrs. Greatheart scowled. “Who are you kidding? They didn’t come all this way for an old coot like you. They’re after our boys.”
“Actually we’re after all three of them,” said Mordred.
“Oh, dear.”
“Told you so,” said Norman, puffing out his chest with a crackle.
Kristin sidled over to Marvin and peered up at his massive chest from beneath his armpit. “Hi, I’m Kristin.”
Marvin glanced downward, observed Kristin’s expression, and quickly looked away again. “We heard about Hazel getting hold of Ruuan. Figured it was just a matter of time before you came looking for me. But what do you want with Dad and Melvin?”
Melvin frowned. “Why wouldn’t they want me? I’m a legend.”
Your brother must be very proud,
Greg thought, not for Melvin’s status as a living legend, but for his legend-worthy bragging skills.
“Of course you are,” said Edna, “and so is your father.”
“Sure, but he’s like a thousand years old.”
“He’s not. He only looks that way.”
“Thank you, dear,” said Norman. “Like I said before, I’ll get my cloak.”
“But . . .” Greg found he could barely maintain the energy to stand. “I haven’t slept in days. I thought we were going to stay the night.”
“Oh, I think that’s a splendid idea,” Edna said, pulling her youngest son’s head to her bosom. Melvin struggled to escape, but he was no match for his mother. Good thing she wasn’t a dragon, Greg thought, or Melvin would have shown her what a real hero could do.
Kristin cleared her throat. “That’s Kristin, like in piston, but with a ‘Kr’ instead of a ‘P.’ Get it?”
Marvin clearly had no idea what Kristin was talking about. The look on her face caused him to take a quick step back.
“Sit down, everyone,” insisted Mrs. Greatheart. “You should eat.”
By Greg’s count, they were at least two chairs short. Mordred wasn’t interested in sitting anyway. He paced back and forth throughout the meal, though as small as the room was, he looked to be just twirling about. Norman gave up his seat as well. Greg suspected he wanted to join the others but couldn’t get his knees to cooperate. In the end, Marvin had to carry him to the living room sofa, where he could lie flat with his feet hanging above the edge of the kitchen table.
When Marvin returned, the only empty chair was next to Kristin. He chose instead to stand, hovering over the table while Edna served up piping hot bowls of stew.
“Out of the way,” Edna scolded. She pushed past Marvin to place a steaming bowl in front of Greg. Marvin squeezed his massive form in behind her, only to end up in her way again when she tried to retreat. “My word, always under foot. Would you go sit down?”
“But Mum—”
“Don’t argue with your mother. Now sit.”
Marvin pulled in his stomach, nearly launching Edna into the kitchen with his expanding chest. “Sorry, Mum.”
“Who’s your friend?” Melvin asked Greg, his eyes fixed upon Kristin’s cheek. Kristin continued to stare at Marvin, trying her best to ignore the younger Greatheart, much the same way the older Greatheart tried to ignore her.
“Her name is Kristin,” Priscilla told him, “and stop staring. You’re making her uncomfortable.”
“I’m not staring,” said Melvin.
“Yes, you are,” Kristin said without looking his way. Edna placed a steaming bowl in front of her. “Thanks. This smells good. What is it?”
“Fresh wyvern stew,” said Edna.
“Wyvern?”
“They’re kind of like small dragons,” Melvin said helpfully.
Kristin grimaced and pushed the bowl aside. “Ugh, no thanks.”
Greg made a show of eating a large spoonful. “Try it. It’s delicious.”
“I don’t think so.”
Melvin leaned forward to draw Kristin’s attention. She promptly turned the other way. “I can get you an ogre patty from out back,” he told the back of her head.
“Yuck.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to try some stew, dear?” Edna asked. “You don’t want to go to bed hungry.”
“Yeah,” said Lucky, “we haven’t eaten all day.”
Kristin regarded her bowl as if it might suddenly sprout limbs. She picked up her spoon and dipped it cautiously, withdrew a morsel barely large enough to see, and guided it toward her lips. The others looked on expectantly.
“Hey, this is good.”
“There now, glad you like it,” Edna said with a smile. She turned then and started toward the kitchen, frowning at Marvin, who was trying his best to blend in with the wall.
“Aren’t you going to eat, Mrs. Greatheart?” asked Greg.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Edna said. “You all eat up. I’ll get some later if there’s any left.”
“Oh, for goodness sake, sit down, Edna,” said Norman from the couch. “You’re driving everyone crazy.”
“Can I get you seconds, dear?” Edna asked Lucky as he scraped the bottom of his bowl with his spoon.
“Some of us would like firsts,” said Norman.
“Hush. I’ll get yours in a minute.”
Marvin cleared his throat. “I’m kind of hungry too.”
“Would you
please
sit down?” Edna said, exasperated.
Marvin considered the empty chair next to Kristin, who smiled widely and patted the seat. Slowly he slid his back down the wall until it at least appeared as if he were sitting. His knees bumped the table and sent it screeching across the hard wood floor, sloshing everyone’s stew nearly out of their bowls.
Mrs. Greatheart shook her head. She ladled out more stew for Greg, who, after glancing at Marvin’s and Norman’s empty bowls, hid his eyes. A moment later, when Edna dished up a second small bowl for Rake, Greg debated crawling under the table.
Kristin waved to capture Marvin’s attention and pointed to her stew. “Want to share mine?”
Greg forced himself to look at Norman. “You said you already knew of the next prophecy? How did you find out?”
Marvin leaned to one side to see around Kristin. “I told him. The Sezxqrthms are getting on in years, and I like to go check on them now and then to see they’re all right.”
“Such a good boy,” Edna said, smiling proudly at her son.
“Simon told you?” said Lucky. “How’d you ever understand him?”
Greg had met the prophet only once, but that one meeting was enough to make him wonder, too. Well over a century old, the man could barely hear and just naturally assumed everyone else shared the same problem. The only one who could understand his shouting was his wife Gabby, whose hearing was even worse than her husband’s. On his first visit to Myrth, Greg had cringed as the two screamed at each other, Gabby with her grating squawks, Simon with his garbled grunts. They shared their own little world, and no outsiders could communicate with them there.
Greg was happy to give them their space.
“Everyone’s always saying they have trouble understanding Simon,” said Marvin. “I just don’t get it. He makes perfect sense to me.”
“What did he tell you?” Priscilla asked.
Marvin relayed all he could remember. Kristin listened intently, resting her elbows on the table with her head propped in her hands, and while Marvin provided nothing Brandon hadn’t already relayed to the king, Greg listened intently too. This was the first he was hearing most of it.
According to Marvin, Hazel was preparing to unleash a horrible power held in check since the Dragon Wars of centuries ago. She planned to use the Amulet of Tehrer to turn Ruuan against his will and force him to attack Pendegrass Castle, and while the spirelings would come to the aid of the Army of the Crown, as they had done against the trolls when Greg was last here, there was only so much they could do against an airborne dragon. The real fight would be up to Greg, and though he was prophesied to win in the end, he would pay for his victory, rather unfortunately, with his life.
“Are you sure about that last part?” Greg asked, though he held little hope.
“Afraid so,” said Marvin somberly.
The room was quiet for a long moment. Kristin stopped staring at Marvin and looked to Greg instead, a mixture of shame and concern in her eyes. Even Melvin, who Greg would have expected to stifle a snicker, held his eyes cast to the table in respectful silence. Greg guessed the boy was a lot less jealous now that he’d become a great hero himself in the recent Battle of the Spirelings.
“I’m sorry, son,” said Norman. “It’s a very noble thing you do for us.”
“It certainly is,” said Edna, wringing her hands nervously. “I just wish there was something we could do for you.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry too, Greghart,” said Melvin. “That’s tough luck.”
“I just don’t understand it,” said Lucky. “If luck has anything to do with it, you should be fine. I don’t plan to leave your side for an instant.”
Greg frowned. He remembered Nathan once telling him how Lucky’s confidence might one day get him in over his head. As afraid as he was for his own life, he couldn’t help but wonder what fate awaited his friend.
The two girls sat on either side of Greg. Each took up one of his hands in their own, and where a few days ago Greg might have thought they were about to tear him in half, competing for his affection, today they meant only to console him. Tears welled up in both girls’ eyes.
“Yes, well, no point getting all choked up,” said Mordred. “The boy’s death has already been prophesied. Nothing can be done about it now. Has everyone finished their stew? We really need to be getting back.”
“But I haven’t had any yet,” said Marvin.
“Hush,” Edna scolded. “Our guest was speaking.”
To Greg’s relief
, Mrs. Greatheart insisted they stay the night, and then again for a huge breakfast of basilisk chops, before they resumed their journey. After the meal, her husband popped out of the bedroom, ready to hit the trail.
“Norman! Put some clothes on.”
Norman scowled and lifted his sagging belly to reveal that he had, in fact, donned his old dragon-hunting loincloth. He went back and changed anyway, supposedly because Edna pointed out that spring was still a ways off and it was sure to be cold, but Greg had an idea it was more because Norman wasn’t happy with the expressions on the two young girls’ faces.
A few minutes later he came out wearing a refreshingly concealing tunic. Still it was barely hiding tights that were disturbingly true to their name.
Once again the monsters of the Enchanted Forest knew better than to mess with a magician of Mordred’s caliber, so the group was able to complete the lengthy journey back in little more than three hours. They might have even finished sooner, except the first quarter hour was wasted watching Norman creak and pop his way across the living room at a snail’s pace.