The Eternal Flame (20 page)

Before Rhita Gawr could recover, Ahearna beat her wings furiously and dived right at the dragon’s head, so fast she was barely a blur of starlight. “Use your wizard’s staff,” she called to Tamwyn’s mind. “Nothing could be more powerful.”

In the hands of a real wizard,
he answered, suddenly unsure of himself.

Still, he forced aside his doubts and pulled from its sheath the very staff Merlin himself had once wielded, the famed Ohnyalei. As he wrapped his hand around its knotted top, he felt a distinct current of energy, and the seven runes engraved on the shaft began to glow with a subtle blue light.

“The eye!” cried Ahearna. “Strike the eye.”

A split second before they reached Rhita Gawr, the dragon realized his danger. Rolling to the side, he slapped at his adversaries with one broad, bony wing. At the same time, Tamwyn raised the staff and swung as hard as he could.

He hit—so hard that the impact rattled every bone in his body. Though Ohnyalei landed just above the dragon’s eye, it struck hard enough to crack several scales, each the size of a supper plate. One of them broke off entirely. Moreover, Tamwyn’s blow clearly enraged Rhita Gawr even more, for the gargantuan beast released a wild roar that sounded like an exploding star.

Ahearna banked, avoiding the dragon’s wing. Meanwhile, Henni released a loud whoop into Tamwyn’s ear that was only barely audible above the din. The hoolah squeezed Tamwyn tighter, as if to say,
Nice work, clumsy man.

As they glided out of reach, Tamwyn glanced at the pocket of his tunic to check on his other companion. While he caught a glimpse of Batty Lad’s mouselike face and cupped ears, they were just pulling back down into the pocket. Whatever Batty Lad had seen was enough, apparently, to make him want to hide himself deeper than ever, cowering with fright.

Just then Tamwyn felt something inside his mind. It wasn’t a voice, but a
feeling.
Anxiety, concern, worry. But from where?

It came, he realized in a flash, from the warriors who served Rhita Gawr! The place where they were gathering—the seven darkened stars of the Wizard’s Staff, now open doorways to the Otherworld—was very far away across the sky, too far for Tamwyn to see what the warriors actually looked like. And yet those warriors could clearly sense their master’s distress. They could feel his emotions, and maybe also his will. Just as they could communicate their own feelings to him. Somehow, through a kind of magical connection that Tamwyn didn’t understand, the warriors were all bound to their master.

Seconds later, he heard Rhita Gawr’s wrathful voice again. “Runt wizard, I shall squash you like an insect! And I shall not need my vast army that gathers even now, awaiting my signal for the greater battle to come. No, this task shall be mine alone!”

The dragon plunged at them, even as he coiled his deadly tail to strike again. But Ahearna, ever alert, saw the attack coming. Anticipating right where the tail would fall, she tilted and swooped downward, passing near the rocky cliffs of a small branch that held no star.

This time, however, Rhita Gawr was one wingbeat ahead. His tail never uncoiled; that had been a feint. The instant Ahearna slowed, confident that the tail would whip past and miss them completely, he attacked in an entirely different way.

From the hollow depths of his eyes came a bolt of black lightning—the same terrible weapon he had hurled at the Heart of Pegasus to destroy the star’s flames. The lightning shot across the sky, sizzling as it flew, canceling out any starlight in its path.

Seeing the sudden blast, both Ahearna and Tamwyn realized they’d been tricked. The great horse whinnied and flapped her wings so hard that the muscles of her shoulders and back seemed about to burst. She lifted them higher as the bolt of blackness hurtled toward them.

Too late!

The lightning struck her wing, slicing through layers of feather and bone. While the main thrust of the blast missed the companions and exploded into the cliffs of the branch just behind them, sending countless shards of bark into the air, Ahearna’s wound was grave.

She reeled in pain, suddenly unable to fly. She whinnied and kicked her hooves, then tossed her head with such force that Tamwyn lost his grip on her mane. Groping wildly with the hand that wasn’t holding the staff, he tried to catch hold again, all the while squeezing her with his thighs. Yet it wasn’t enough.

He fell off the steed.

Desperately, Tamwyn twisted to grab the flailing horse. But as he turned, his staff knocked against her haunches and flew from his grasp. Like Tamwyn himself, the precious Ohnyalei plummeted downward. So did Ahearna, along with the hoolah still clinging to her back. Henni shouted something—a cry not of words but of genuine anguish.

All of them spun through the air. Tamwyn glimpsed the staff, flashing as it fell toward the dying fires of the Heart of Pegasus. His last view of Ahearna was the sight of her torn wing, backlit by the radiant River of Time. For a brief moment, the wing glowed so brightly that its feathers seemed to have burst into flames.

Out of nowhere, he saw an immense black shadow. Rhita Gawr! The dragon swooped lower, then arched his wings so that he hovered right beneath his prey.

“Oooff,” grunted Tamwyn as he crashed onto a hard, shiny surface.
The dragon’s snout.

He sat up, ignoring his bruises, to find himself staring into one of those bottomless eyes he so dreaded. The enormous, lidless eye glared back at him with malice.

“Well, well, my runt wizard, just look where you’ve landed. And without your staff! Such a pity.”

Beneath Tamwyn, the whole snout shook violently, as Rhita Gawr released a loud, shuddering roar that could only have been a laugh. It was all the young man could do to hold on to the slippery scales so that he didn’t slide off the edge. Or into the dragon’s terrible eye, just a few paces away.

“I sense how little is your power,” sneered the dragon, his leathery wings flapping slowly to keep himself aloft. “Why, you lack even enough magic to light that torch on your back.”

Tamwyn winced, knowing it was true.

“You are a sorry excuse for a wizard,” the dragon continued, lowering his voice to a thunderous growl. “Yet I am glad you have somehow survived. For it will be a pleasure to kill you here and now.”

Deep within the void of the eye, sparks appeared, coalescing quickly. Tamwyn could tell that only a few seconds remained before a bolt of black lightning would destroy him, as well as any hope to save Avalon.

Had he climbed so high, traveled so far, and endured so much—just to die like this? His mind raced through all the possibilities of what he might do. And yet . . . he saw no way to escape. He lacked the magic to fight. He’d even lost the staff, his best weapon.

Wait. That isn’t my only weapon.

Even as the lightning flared within the dragon’s eye, just about to strike him, Tamwyn jumped to his feet. In the same instant, he tore his dagger from its sheath. The blade—forged by elven metalsmiths ages ago in the land of Lost Fincayra, infused with power that could serve only the true heir of Merlin, and destined for battle against the tyrant Rhita Gawr—shone with starlight, as well as a deeper light of its own.

With a shout that he knew might be his last, Tamwyn lunged. Just before the bolt of black lightning erupted, he plunged his dagger into the very center of the dragon’s eye.

24
•
A Surprising Turn

Aaaarrrgghh!” The black dragon’s mighty roar reverberated across the sky. Partly a shout of rage, partly a shriek of pain, the roar was so powerful that it even affected the Heart of Pegasus. The star’s dying flames—all that remained of the magical doorway between Avalon and Earth—wavered like a windblown candle.

Even as he bellowed, Rhita Gawr whirled around with the speed of a celestial maelstrom. Bony wings outstretched, giant tail coiled, he spun in tight circles, reeling from Tamwyn’s unexpected attack. His enormous claws dug at his wounded eye, trying without success to remove the poisonous blade now lodged there.

Again he roared, this time entirely in wrath. Because of that treacherous human, he had lost the sight in one eye—and something equally precious, the sweet taste of conquest. Right now, he couldn’t even feel the thrill of his plans to control Avalon and the worlds beyond. No, he could feel only endless rage at that miserable young wizard.

Tamwyn, however, was already far away. As soon as his dagger had plunged into the eye, he’d leaped off the dragon’s snout and into the open air. Wind tore at him as he fell, plummeting toward the darkening star. He knew that he would soon die, but at least he’d first inflicted a painful blow.

Not enough, though. Not nearly enough.

He cursed at himself as he spun downward. If only he weren’t such a lame excuse for a wizard. He could have done so much more than merely stab an eye. He could have flown on his own power! And fought Rhita Gawr to the death! Yes—and in the process, he could have possibly saved everything and everyone he cared about.

At that very instant, the wind surged. So strongly did it whip him that the whole front of his tunic wrenched sharply, pulling away from his body. Then, in an explosion of threads, his pocket ripped completely apart.

That was when Tamwyn realized that what he’d just felt was not the wind. It was not a force that he’d experienced before. It was not, in fact, anything he’d ever imagined.

It was Batty Lad.

And yet it was
not
Batty Lad. For, as Tamwyn watched in utter amazement, the scrawny little creature with crumpled wings and a curious green glow began to change. To grow. To swell to gargantuan size.

In just a few seconds, his wrinkled face expanded into a large head with teeth-studded jaws; his flappers, as flimsy as dead leaves, into broad and powerful wings. The tiny cupped ears grew to Tamwyn’s own height. The mouse’s feet became muscular legs with savage claws. His neck lengthened, as did his tail, which now culminated in a massive, bony club. And the splotchy fur that had covered his body transformed into gleaming green scales.

Even as he fell, Tamwyn blinked in astonishment. This creature was no longer anything like the bizarre little bat who had fit so easily in his pocket. He was now a dragon, grand and terrible, more than twenty times the size of Ahearna. The only similarity to his former self was the eerie green glow that burned within his eyes.

The great green dragon beat his wings and swerved in the air, flying beneath his falling companion. Gently, he raised his head, so that Tamwyn landed just beside one of his long pointy ears. The young man slowly stood, grasping the upright ear for support. He noticed with surprise how soft it felt, thanks to thousands of greenish yellow hairs that grew along its sides.

“You’re no longer Batty Lad,” said Tamwyn, his voice full of awe. He steadied himself beside the dragon’s ear. “But are you still a friend?”

A rich, rumbling laughter bubbled out of the dragon’s throat. “A friend I shall always be,” he declared in a voice that was the absolute opposite of Batty Lad’s squeaky chatter. His new voice sounded so deep and resonant that it made Tamwyn think of harp strings that stretched from one end of the sky to the other. “Just as I was to your grandfather.”

Tamwyn squeezed the enormous ear in surprise. “You knew Merlin?”

“Knew him?” bellowed the dragon. He tilted his wings, banking gracefully toward the Heart of Pegasus. The wind blew hard, buffeting them both, but Tamwyn had no trouble hearing the dragon’s next words. “Your grandfather and I shared many battles, and many adventures, including his journey to relight the stars after the War of Storms.”

The young man caught his breath. “I know who you really are! Not Batty Lad, but—”

“Basilgarrad.” The name, spoken with the dragon’s remarkable resonance, hovered in the air as if it, too, possessed wings. “And I am glad indeed to have regained my true form.”

In a flash, Tamwyn understood. “Merlin! He asked you to stay hidden, didn’t he? And used his magic to disguise you?”

The dragon nodded his massive head, making Tamwyn hold tight to the ear for balance. “I agreed so the enemies of Avalon would not suspect I still existed. That was why Merlin did not ride me on his final journey to Earth. And why I remained hidden for so many years, until his true heir appeared at last.”

Tamwyn stood erect on the soaring dragon. For the first time in his life, he felt sure that the words
true heir
really did mean him. And he also felt sure of what he must do next.

He glanced at the troubled star, now riven with so many cracks of darkness that its light flickered feebly. Then he looked upward, at the whirling clot of wrath that was Rhita Gawr. So boundless was the warlord’s rage, and so wholly consuming, he hadn’t yet realized that Tamwyn still survived. The young man glared up at him, thinking of the companions that Rhita Gawr had just killed: Ahearna, the gallant steed, and Henni, the irrepressible hoolah, would never be seen again. They were lost, just like the staff of Merlin. Finally, Tamwyn spoke into the ear of the great green dragon who bore him.

“Basilgarrad, you have faced many foes in battle, always guided by your love of Avalon. Will you join me now, in the greatest battle of all?”

The dragon answered with a powerful flap of his wings that made them swoop suddenly upward. His green eyes aglow, he flapped again, surging higher and higher. As they rose, the wind whistled around Tamwyn, blowing his hair and fluttering his torn tunic. With one arm wrapped around the dragon’s upright ear, he felt as if he were riding on the prow of a great ship—the ship of his destiny, perhaps, that had carried him at last to the stars.

As they climbed, dark cracks snaked ever faster across the star. The Heart dimmed abruptly, its fires disappearing. In just another moment, Tamwyn knew, the star would go completely dark.

Above them, the immense black dragon that was Rhita Gawr finally stopped whirling in wrathful circles. Only now did he notice something new, something he’d never expected. Another dragon approached, one who bore the very person who had blinded his eye only minutes before. Rhita Gawr trained his remaining eye on his young foe—and also on an ancient foe he’d presumed long dead.