The Dragon of Avalon (9 page)

That rock hit other rocks, jarring them loose. Those rocks smashed into others. In seconds, the entire slope roared with cascading boulders. A violent landslide had begun—with Basil in the middle of it.

10:
R
UDE AND
S
ASSY

Wisdom, like those who possess it, comes in all shapes and sizes. That much I've learned, often the hard way. Yet despite all their differences, truly wise people share this same understanding:

No matter how much you know, you still have a lot to learn.

Falling!

Basil tumbled down the mountain slope, rolling and twirling so fast he felt dizzy and nauseous, unable to make himself think, let alone fly. All around him, rocks slid loose and boulders bounced, crashing into each other with explosive impact, sending up sprays of smashed rocks, shredded lichen, and pulverized stone. The entire mountain roared with the landslide.

One flying rock grazed his side, scraping against his scales. Then another rock, the size of a sparrow, struck him hard under the jaw and sent him reeling backward. Hopelessly out of control, he spun wildly, bouncing down the mountain as if he were just another pebble in this cascade of stones.

Splat.
He landed on a broad, flat ledge. Head spinning, he weakly focused his eyes and gazed around. Suddenly he realized that something had drastically changed. He wasn't moving anymore! This ledge, protruding upward from the slope, reached above the chaos of shifting rocks. It was, in fact, a rare island of stability in this stormy sea. Could it be that his luck had finally turned?

That was when he noticed the moving shadow. It darkened the ledge, covering him swiftly. Basil looked up—and saw an enormous, jagged-edged boulder falling straight at him. Frozen with fear, he watched the boulder drop closer, closer. In another heartbeat he would be completely crushed.

A swooshing sound—and something grabbed Basil by the tail, plucking him off the ledge. An instant later, the boulder smashed down. Fragments of rock exploded, bursting from the spot where he'd just been, filling the air with dust.

Basil, now gliding above the mountainside, knew he'd been saved. By what? Another hungry predator who didn't want a tasty little meal to go to waste? Expecting to find a fierce dactylbird, or a vulture perhaps, he bent his body to see what held him by the tail.

A hand! The small but sturdy hand of a round-bodied sprite grasped Basil firmly. Seeing the mass of silver threads that billowed above them, forming a parachute, he remembered hearing crows chatter about pinnacle sprites, solitary little people who lived in the highest peaks of Stoneroot, floating casually from ridge to ridge on parachutes they could produce from their backs at will. Looking into the smooth, beardless face of this particular sprite—which, like the rest of his body, was an angry shade of purple—Basil surmised that he was very young. And very grumpy.

"Hmmmpff," grumbled the sprite as he glanced down at his catch. "I save your life and all you can do is stare? Rude little beast! Didn't they ever teach you any manners in lizard school?"

"I'm not a lizard," answered Basil, feeling a bit grumpy himself.

"Well then, bat school."

"I'm not a bat."

The sprite, whose long hair fluttered as they sailed above the boulders, peered closely at Basil. "Hmmmpff, what in Dagda's name
are
you, then?"

Seconds passed, while an updraft filled the parachute, carrying them higher. At last, Basil shook his head and said, "I'm—I—I'm . . ."

"A stutterer, I see," growled the sprite. Although his voice sounded as gruff as ever, his skin color changed a little, softening to lavender with a few swirls of gray.

Finally, Basil completed his sentence, whispering just loud enough to be heard above the wind that ruffled the parachute: "I really don't know what I am."

"Hmmmpff. Maybe you're telling the truth, maybe not. Or maybe you're just plain stupid as well as rude."

Even though he was dangling by his tail, Basil arched his body so that his face drew near to the sprite's. Glowering, he said, "Rude, maybe. But stupid? No, that word belongs to somebody who's easily fooled."

"Right," sneered the sprite, turning an amused shade of orange. "Somebody like y—"

He broke off suddenly, catching the pungent odor of a goblin vulture, whose talons often smelled of rotting carrion. The sprite's color instantly went white. He whirled around in midair, tangling his own leg in the strings of his parachute. As he tried to pull his leg free, the chute collapsed. He started plunging toward the rock-strewn slope, taking Basil with him.

For seconds that seemed like hours, they dropped downward. Basil tried to free himself from the sprite's grip, but to no avail; in his panic, the sprite only squeezed harder. Locked together, they fell toward the boulders, faster and faster.

At last, the sprite managed to free his leg. With a desperate lurch, he threw his weight sideways. A loud
whomp!
announced the chute had filled again with air. A fresh updraft from the mountainside carried them higher once more.

Having stopped their free fall, the sprite still didn't relax. He cast his head anxiously from side to side, staring into the sky around them. His liquid purple eyes seemed about to pop out of his head.

"Looking for something?" asked Basil nonchalantly.

"Yes, you idiot! You really are dimmer than an ogre's eyeball! There's a goblin vulture up here somewhere."

"No," declared Basil. "There's not."

"But I smelled . . ." The sprite's voice trailed off. As he stared at his small passenger, his skin color melted from frosty white to wrathful red. "You did that! You! Why, you demented, idiotic smell-maker . . . you could have killed us. Murdered us. Destroyed us. Or worse!"

Basil waited patiently until the sprite's ranting stopped. Then, ears cocked innocently, he asked, "Can I help it if you're so easily fooled?"

The sprite opened his mouth to speak, found absolutely no words, and shut his mouth abruptly. Then, as his color changed to muddy orange, he did something new, something highly unusual for a pinnacle sprite. He grinned. Well, almost. The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, though it could have been just a twitch.

"Not bad, you little mystery beast. That foolish prank of yours was insanely risky . . . but effective. And pinnacle sprites appreciate a good prank."

With a tilt of his head, he added, "My name is Nuic. I may be a young sprite—not even a hundred years old—but I am an excellent judge of character. And I can spot someone with the true heart of a prankster."

"And I can spot someone with the true personality of a goblin vulture," said Basil wryly.

"Ah, you mean my happy disposition?" Nuic's almost-grin vanished. "Hmmmpff. Sweetness is much overrated, if you ask me. Except in a honeycomb." His voice lowered. "You still haven't thanked me for saving your life."

"Manners are much overrated. Except in a sprite."

Nuic's skin, like his mood, darkened.

"I can tell you this, though, Master Nuic. Whatever kind of creature I am, my name is Basil. And I'm pleased to meet you."

"Hmmmpff. Not at
all
pleased to meet you."

"And now, if you don't mind, how about letting me go? I can fly on my own, you know."

Nuic's eyes widened. "No, you're trying to fool me again. Those dried, crumpled leaves there on your back are certainly not wings?"

"Yes indeed," answered Basil, ignoring the insult. "Let go of my tail and I'll show you."

The wind strengthened, lifting them both higher. Below them stretched the high peaks of Olanabram, ridge upon ridge of mountains that wore massive glaciers like fluffy white shawls upon their shoulders.

The sprite released his grip. Basil opened his bony wings and coasted freely, then caught a swell and spun a trio of backward loops in quick succession. Gliding back to Nuic's side—while keeping a safe distance from the parachute strings—the little fellow's green eyes glowed with satisfaction.

"One more thing I'd like to say," Basil announced.

"Hmmmpff. Just because you can fly, it doesn't make you any less rude and sassy."

"True," agreed Basil, banking a turn and sailing over to Nuic's other side. "But there is still one more thing I'd like to say."

The sprite's color darkened to muddy brown. "Get it over with, then."

"I just wanted to say . . . thanks. For saving my life down there."

Although Nuic's grimace remained, a few subtle traces of pink appeared in his chest and at his temples. Gruffly, he said, "You're
still
rude and sassy, you ogre-brained bumpkin."

"And you're still easily fooled." Basil chuckled, flattening his ears against his head.

"Just be glad—keep that cursed wing away from my parachute, you oaf!—that I just happened to come along when you were about to get spattered on a stone." Frowning, Nuic added, "Knowing what I know now, I wish I'd come to the wedding a day early. But we all make mistakes."

Tilting his leathery wings, Basil glided closer. "Wedding? Whose wedding?"

"You really are as daft as a doltbug! Why, the wizard's, of course. Don't you know anything? Anything at all?"

Caught off guard, Basil muttered, "No, actually. And it feels like I know less every day."

"Hmmmpff," said the sprite, his colors lightening a bit, "some people would call that a mark of wisdom. Although personally, I'd call it utter f—"

"Wait!" interrupted Basil. "Did you say it's a
wizard's
wedding? The wizard Merlin?"

"Who else, bubble brain? Wizards don't come along every day, you know! That's why half of Avalon is gathering down there right now." Proudly, he added, "The
invited
half, that is."

The pinnacle sprite tugged on a parachute thread, making them float toward the highest peak in the area, a square-shaped mountain topped with snow. Hundreds of people of all descriptions had gathered there, forming a circle on the summit. Though Basil recognized some of them, from the tales he'd heard over the years, many bore no resemblance to any creature he'd ever heard about. Yet there was one he knew instantly. As immense as a rocky ridge, the giant Shim sat just outside the circle.

"Merlin's wedding," said Basil in wonder. "So he's really come back to Avalon?"

"No, you dithering dunderhead! He decided to miss the whole thing! Right now he's sitting on a shore, somewhere on Earth, counting grains of sand. When he gets to a trillion trillion—"

"All right, all right," said Basil, annoyed at his own ignorance. He floated awhile beside the sprite, watching more guests of all kinds climb the mountain to witness the wedding. "Looks like every sort of creature you could imagine will be there."

"Yes, and some you couldn't
possibly
imagine. Why, there will be people from every corner of all seven root-realms. Practically every race in Avalon."

"Has Merlin arrived yet?"

"Over there, by the edge of the circle. See his black hair and white tunic?"

Basil gasped at the sight—and not just because it reminded him of his terrible dream. Having heard so many stories about the wizard—whose true name, Olo Eopia, meant
great man of many worlds, many times
—he couldn't believe that Merlin was right down there. Right now.

His ebony mane blowing in a mountain breeze, Merlin stepped into the center of the circle of spectators. The sleeves of his tunic, whiter than the snow, fluttered as he beckoned to someone in the crowd. A woman emerged, stepping grace-fully to his side. Equally tall as her companion, she wore a long braid that glinted with the tans and auburns of marsh grasses. The braid reached down the back of her robe of azure blue, a color as rich as the summer sky.

"Who is she?" asked Basil. "Standing next to Merlin?"

Nuic shook himself, scowling. "Have I ever told you that you're a pin brained jabberjaw?"

"Not recently. But who is she?"

"Hallia, of course! They've been planning this for decades, ever since Merlin lost his senses and went to Earth for a while. But he finally saw his folly and returned."

The sprite's liquid eyes rolled toward the mountaintop. "Poor fellow never had a chance, really. Once she taught him how to change into a deer, so they could run together in the meadows, he was thoroughly besotted."

Struggling to understand, Basil sputtered, "She's . . . a deer?"

"No, you cabbage-brained, addleheaded know nothing! She's a
deer woman
, one of the ancient Mellwyn-bri-Meath clan from the Smoking Cliffs, the same place where Dagda used magical sea mist to weave the famous Carpet Caerlochlann."

More confused than ever, Basil pressed, "A deer woman, you say? So she can change from one form to the other?"

"Right, you moronic, piddle-mouthed puddinghead. And whatever form she takes, Merlin's totally infatuated with her. Why, he even named that mountain down there Hallia's Peak."

Enthralled with all these discoveries, Basil ignored the insults.
Travel really can enlighten you
, he thought. Then he glanced down at the site of the recent landslide, and at the flicker of green flames still visible there, and added,
If it doesn't kill you first.

"Well," declared Nuic, "I can't say it's been a pleasure. But good luck to you anyway. Now I must be going."

"Wait." Basil glided closer. "Did you say people from every part of Avalon will be there? Some from every race?"

"Not every race, you empty-headed hinkletooth! No gobsken or ogres were invited, and no mer people could make it, for some reason." The sprite chortled. "But you are nearly right. Almost every race will be there."

"Which means," said Basil with a shake of his wings, "that if I were ever going to find someone from
my
race, whatever that is, someone who actually looks like me—"

"Stop right there." Nuic's color darkened. "Don't even think about it! Do you have any idea how
rude
it would be to barge into somebody's wedding uninvited?"

"Well . . ."

"Or how
dangerous
it would be?"