Free How to Slay a Dragon by Bill Allen

laughed. “Don’t worry. Just stick close to me and you’ll be perfectly safe.”
    “You’re not expecting to make it across on luck alone, are you?”
    “Of course. But we have to go now.” He hopped across a broad finger of lava to a narrow strip of land and scurried to his left.
    Greg started to object, but Lucky screamed, “Now!” so insistently Greg found himself jumping without questioning why. No sooner had his foot left the bank before the lava spit up again. Greg landed on the narrow finger of land and leapt to the side as he’d seen Lucky do, ending up so close it was as if the two of them shared the same boots. He cringed as the lava sizzled over the spot he’d just been standing.
    “You don’t have to stick that close,” said Lucky. “But when I say we have to move now, I do mean now, okay?”
    Before Greg could open his mouth to agree, Lucky screamed, “Now!” and leapt away again. Never a slow learner, Greg managed to beat the boy’s shadow to the new trail.
    “That’s better,” Lucky said with a smile.
    Much to Greg’s terror the two traveled this way for what seemed an eternity, but was surely closer to ten minutes. Occasionally the network of black trails widened and nearly displaced all of the lava. Other times the whole area glowed orange, and Greg couldn’t help but worry what would happen if the lava decided to spew when there were no alternate paths to follow. Fortunately that situation never occurred, and whether a property of the Molten Moor or just coincidence brought on by Lucky’s amazing talent, Greg didn’t want to contemplate. Part of him—okay, all of him—wanted to believe Lucky’s talent was responsible, for having that kind of luck on his side in this world could only come in handy.
    Then again, just because Lucky was safe didn’t mean Greg wouldn’t burst into flames at his side. But then what of the prophecy? Greg shook off the thought. He was beginning to reason like the rest of them, and this probably wasn’t a good time to be losing his mind.
    To his amazement, ahead amidst the lava sat a small island of trees—charred black, lifeless trees, perhaps, but trees all the same. Greg jumped for the island and landed hard on hands and knees and was up in an instant, screaming and blowing on his reddened palms.
    “Shhh,” Lucky said. He pointed toward the center of the island.
    Only then did Greg notice the man standing motionless near the edge of a lava pool. Instead of a tunic and tights he wore a loose-fitting white shirt and pants. He balanced on one leg, his body parallel to the ground, and in one hand he held a branch extended out as far as he could reach. Greg stared, amazed anyone could stand so still on one foot, or that anyone would want to.
    “Look,” whispered Lucky.
    The man relaxed his taut muscles and stretched his leg out a hair more to allow the stick to reach an inch farther. Odd place for anyone to practice yoga , Greg thought, but then he spotted an animal trapped on a small patch of land and realized the man was attempting a rescue.
    The creature looked a bit like a squirrel, but with a tail over twice the length of its body and fur so black it shimmered blue in the sunlight. It hunched down, as if to leap, but just bobbed up and down nervously, too frightened to spring. Greg measured the distance and the brightness of the lava and agreed with its decision.
    Somehow the man willed the stick an inch closer. Again the animal crouched, and this time it sprang.
    The distance closed. Flailing claws seized the tip of the stick, and like a tree branch in the wind the man yielded to the weight. The stick drooped with the creature swinging panicked from its tip. Then the animal was up and scurrying atop the wood, along the man’s arm, across his back, and down his leg to the safety of solid ground.
    Only it didn’t stop there. It shot straight at Greg’s chest like a speeding bullet. Greg let out a feeble scream and tried to dodge out of the