Bill Allen - How To Slay A Dragon

They call him Greghart, The Dragonslayer

But Greg Hart cant slay a dragon. Hed be lucky to win a fight against one of the smaller girls at school.

His only real skill is that he can run faster than any other twelve-year-old boy in his class, a necessity, since thats who hes usually running from. Oh, its not like hes never been the hero at the center of an adventure. Its just the kind of adventures hes been involved with have always been the made-up kind hes written about in his journal.

Now the magicians of Myrth have yanked Greg into a strange new world, where the monsters he must run from are far scarierand hungrierthan anything hes ever run from before. He tries to tell everyone theres been a mistake. Ruuan is a very large dragon, while Greg, on the other hand, is neither large nor a dragon. Hes barely much of a boy. Unfortunately, such trivialities could never stop the people of Myrth from believing Greg will rescue King Peters daughter from Ruuan. After all, Greg has been named in a prophecy, and no prophecy has ever been wrong before.

Why, Greg wonders, does he have to be at the heart of the first one that is?

How to

Slay

a

Dragon

Journals of Mryth

Book One

Bill Allen

Bell Bridge Books

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead,) events or locations is entirely coincidental.

Bell Bridge Books

PO BOX 300921

Memphis, TN 38130

ISBN: 978-1-935661-87-0

Bell Bridge Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright 2011 by Bill Allen

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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Cover design: Debra Dixon
Interior design: Hank Smith
Photo credits:
Dragon Alexey Bakhtiozin | istockphoto

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Dedication

In memory of Mom, who, along with Dad,

inspired more absurdity than anything on Myrth.

A cknowledgments

Many thanks to Raymond and Barbara Feist for their encouragement in the beginning, to the members of the Brevard Scribblers and the Space Coast Writers Guild for their feedback along the way, to Gene Davis for helping give the book its second wind, to Debra Dixon and the many others at Bell Bridge Books for helping me to make Greg Harts story a better one, and most of all to my wife, Nancy, for enduring it all.

The Mighty Greg Hart

Greg Harts name had never caused him trouble before.

It was nothing like the name for Winnie Weimar, who everyone at school was always calling Whiney Weimar. And it was way better than the one pinned on poor Richard Kinickey, more commonly known as Icky Ricky Kinickey. It wasnt even as bad as the one for Dewey Doolittle, who everyone calledwell, Dewey Doolittle. No, Greg Hart had a perfectly normal name, which is why, for the most part, the other kids just called him Greg and were done with it.

Problem was, for twelve years now Gregs name may have simply been biding its time.

In the center of the woods behind Gregs house stood a large oak, where between two boughs rested a smattering of scrap wood that might have been called a tree house, had a person been feeling especially generous. There Greg sat, cross-legged on the creaking wood floor, writing in his journal, his tousled brown hair jutting out in all directions. Another boy might have written about the events of his morning, or even about his apprehension over starting junior high tomorrow, but not Greg. As always he chose stories more to his liking.

Today hed been chased by a giant.

I was a little worried at first. With each step the giant took, the ground trembled and split. Huge boulders dislodged and crashed across my path. Trees toppled. Then it hit me.

An idea, that is, not the giant. Or a tree.

I screamed out a warning. The giant yawned. (Its not that easy to capture the attention of a giant.)

Thats when I charged. Poor beast never even saw me coming. Imagine its surprise when I wedged my shoulder between two enormous toes and easily brought it to its knees.

Greg paused and held his pen to his chin. Truth was, hed be lucky to survive a fight with a classmate, let alone one with a giantcompared to Greg, his classmates were giantsbut the Greg Hart from his journal was capable of countless feats Greg would never take on himself, so he shrugged and scratched out an end to his tale.

A deafening roar shook the forest as the giant teetered first forward, then back, and dropped like a falling skyscraper, splaying the last of the trees. For twenty minutes the ground trembled, short in comparison to the hour it took to climb my way out of the newly formed cavern.

I didnt mind. Small price to pay for saving yet another kingdom.

Cool, Greg told himself as he snapped his journal closed and crammed it into the pocket of his jeans. What he wouldnt give to win a fight against a giant.

Of course, its not like hed never been in a fight before. Its just to date his experiences always leaned more toward getting beaten up rather than throwing any punches. About the only thing he had in common with the Greg Hart from his journal was that he could run really fast. Here he had plenty of experienceway more than any boy would have likedbut less, he feared, than he would need at his new school tomorrow.

No, Gregs strength was simply not one of his strengths. His smile drained away, and he fell back against the wall of the tree house, ignoring the groan of the buckling lumber.

Greg had spent all morning exploring the woods behind his house, where it was not uncommon for every bush to hide a monster, for the trees to pick up and move when he wasnt watching, and for animals to chase him at blinding speeds down the twisted paths, nipping at his heels with every step.

Imagining youre a hero could be exhausting work.

Soon Gregs eyelids began to droop and his head began to list, but his imagination was just getting its second wind. Before him appeared a courtyard filled with people, all shouting and waving their arms.

Greg Hart! Greg Hart! Greg Hart! they cheered, and there was Greg at the center of it all, grinning so wide it looked as if his head might split in half. Eyes fully closed now, the daydreaming Greg smiled too. Hed have fought a giant twice the size for half the glory.

Gradually the picture blurred and reformed, until next to Greg stood a pretty young maiden in a long, flowing gown. A huge man in a

magenta robe and gold crown strode forward, a king, who spoke in a most grandiose tone.

Our greatest thanks to you, young man. I must say, only the very bravest of heroes would have willingly marched into the lair of that fire-breathing dragon. No words can express our gratitude. No words at all. We shall remain forever in your debt. In his mind Greg saw the maiden reach up on tiptoes to give him a grateful kiss, and the spectators threw their hats in the air and cheered even louder than before.