Chapter 1
W iglaf sat in the cold dining hall of Dragon Slayers’ Academy. He stared at the slimy jellied eels on his plate.
“Yuck!” he said to his friend Erica. “I’m sick of having eels for breakfast!”
Erica brushed a clump of brown hair out of her eyes. “Get over it, Wiglaf,” she told him.
“I know, I know,” Wiglaf said miserably. “The castle moat is swarming with eels. And as long as our headmaster can get eels for free, he will have Frypot cook us eels for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
With her bread, Erica sopped up every last drop of dark green eel juice on her plate. She popped the bread into her mouth.
How could she stand it? Wiglaf wondered.
“Mmmm,” Erica said. “I love it!”
Erica loved everything about DSA—including the eels. She didn’t even mind emptying the eel traps each morning. Wiglaf was pretty sure that was one of the reasons she had won the Future Dragon Slayer of the Month Medal.
Wiglaf tasted a small bite of tail. Disgusting! He pushed his plate of eels across the table.
“Here, Erica,” he said. “Have mine.”
“Shhh! It’s Eric, remember?” Erica looked around the dining hall to see whether anyone at the other tables had heard. “If Mordred discovers I’m a girl and kicks me out of school, it will be your fault!”
“Sorry,” Wiglaf said.
“You’re the only one who knows my secret,” Erica went on. “If you tell anyone, I swear, I’ll whack off your head! I’ll plunge my sword into your gut! Your blood will—”
“All right, Eric!” Wiglaf cut in quickly. “I get your meaning. »
Wiglaf knew Erica was dying to slay a dragon and become a hero. But did she have to go on and on about plunging her sword into him?
Wiglaf wanted to be a hero, too. Heroes were brave and bold. If he were a hero, no one would tease him about being small for his age. Or about his carrot-colored hair. So Wiglaf had left home, with his pet pig, Daisy, at his side. He had come to Dragon Slayers’ Academy to learn how to kill dragons and become a hero.
There was only one small problem with his plan.
Wiglaf couldn’t stand the sight of blood.
“Wiglaf! Eric!” someone called from across the dining hall.
Wiglaf looked up. He saw Angus, the headmaster’s nephew, running toward their table.
Angus was plump and sandy-haired. He never ran when he could walk. He never walked when he could sit. So Wiglaf knew he must have important news.
“Angus!” Erica exclaimed. “What is it?”
Angus stood by the Class I table, catching his breath. “Uncle Mordred is having a tantrum,” he said.
“That’s nothing new,” Wiglaf pointed out. Mordred was always yelling at him because of what had happened with a dragon named Gorzil. Wiglaf and Erica had been sent off to kill Gorzil. And Wiglaf had killed him. But only by accident. He had stumbled upon Gorzil’s secret weakness—bad jokes. And four bad jokes later, Gorzil was history. But Mordred didn’t yell about how he had killed the dragon. He yelled about how Wiglaf had let some greedy villagers take all of Gorzil’s gold.
“But this is a major tantrum,” Angus was saying. “Mordred just heard about a boy from Dragon Exterminators’ Prep. He killed a dragon and brought his headmaster all the dragon’s gold. Uncle Mordred is screaming and yelling that one of us had better slay a dragon soon. One of us must bring him some gold, or—”
“Angus!” Wiglaf cried. “Duck!”
Angus ducked. A fat jellied eel flew over his head. It landed in Erica’s lap.
Erica leaped to her feet. “Hey! Who threw that?” she called.
“Me!” yelled a boy from the Class II table. “What are you going to do about it?”
“You will see!” Erica yelled back. The Future Dragon Slayer of the Month loved a good food fight as much as any other DSA student. She snatched up an eel from Wiglaf’s plate. She threw it. “Bull’s-eye!” she yelled as it hit its mark.
At once the air was thick with flying eels.
Wiglaf
W iglaf sat in the cold dining hall of Dragon Slayers’ Academy. He stared at the slimy jellied eels on his plate.
“Yuck!” he said to his friend Erica. “I’m sick of having eels for breakfast!”
Erica brushed a clump of brown hair out of her eyes. “Get over it, Wiglaf,” she told him.
“I know, I know,” Wiglaf said miserably. “The castle moat is swarming with eels. And as long as our headmaster can get eels for free, he will have Frypot cook us eels for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
With her bread, Erica sopped up every last drop of dark green eel juice on her plate. She popped the bread into her mouth.
How could she stand it? Wiglaf wondered.
“Mmmm,” Erica said. “I love it!”
Erica loved everything about DSA—including the eels. She didn’t even mind emptying the eel traps each morning. Wiglaf was pretty sure that was one of the reasons she had won the Future Dragon Slayer of the Month Medal.
Wiglaf tasted a small bite of tail. Disgusting! He pushed his plate of eels across the table.
“Here, Erica,” he said. “Have mine.”
“Shhh! It’s Eric, remember?” Erica looked around the dining hall to see whether anyone at the other tables had heard. “If Mordred discovers I’m a girl and kicks me out of school, it will be your fault!”
“Sorry,” Wiglaf said.
“You’re the only one who knows my secret,” Erica went on. “If you tell anyone, I swear, I’ll whack off your head! I’ll plunge my sword into your gut! Your blood will—”
“All right, Eric!” Wiglaf cut in quickly. “I get your meaning. »
Wiglaf knew Erica was dying to slay a dragon and become a hero. But did she have to go on and on about plunging her sword into him?
Wiglaf wanted to be a hero, too. Heroes were brave and bold. If he were a hero, no one would tease him about being small for his age. Or about his carrot-colored hair. So Wiglaf had left home, with his pet pig, Daisy, at his side. He had come to Dragon Slayers’ Academy to learn how to kill dragons and become a hero.
There was only one small problem with his plan.
Wiglaf couldn’t stand the sight of blood.
“Wiglaf! Eric!” someone called from across the dining hall.
Wiglaf looked up. He saw Angus, the headmaster’s nephew, running toward their table.
Angus was plump and sandy-haired. He never ran when he could walk. He never walked when he could sit. So Wiglaf knew he must have important news.
“Angus!” Erica exclaimed. “What is it?”
Angus stood by the Class I table, catching his breath. “Uncle Mordred is having a tantrum,” he said.
“That’s nothing new,” Wiglaf pointed out. Mordred was always yelling at him because of what had happened with a dragon named Gorzil. Wiglaf and Erica had been sent off to kill Gorzil. And Wiglaf had killed him. But only by accident. He had stumbled upon Gorzil’s secret weakness—bad jokes. And four bad jokes later, Gorzil was history. But Mordred didn’t yell about how he had killed the dragon. He yelled about how Wiglaf had let some greedy villagers take all of Gorzil’s gold.
“But this is a major tantrum,” Angus was saying. “Mordred just heard about a boy from Dragon Exterminators’ Prep. He killed a dragon and brought his headmaster all the dragon’s gold. Uncle Mordred is screaming and yelling that one of us had better slay a dragon soon. One of us must bring him some gold, or—”
“Angus!” Wiglaf cried. “Duck!”
Angus ducked. A fat jellied eel flew over his head. It landed in Erica’s lap.
Erica leaped to her feet. “Hey! Who threw that?” she called.
“Me!” yelled a boy from the Class II table. “What are you going to do about it?”
“You will see!” Erica yelled back. The Future Dragon Slayer of the Month loved a good food fight as much as any other DSA student. She snatched up an eel from Wiglaf’s plate. She threw it. “Bull’s-eye!” she yelled as it hit its mark.
At once the air was thick with flying eels.
Wiglaf
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