The Raging Fires (26 page)

As dawn’s first rays caressed the slope, dousing the rocks with gold, I could see that Ionn was tiring. Globules of sweat clung to his lips and mane; his shoulder muscles quivered. He ran laboriously, hardly lifting his hooves.

If only I could do something more than cling to the back of this brave stallion! But what? The prophecy had forecast a terrible battle, fought to the last. Yet, what kind of battle was this? It was merely a pursuit—with a certain outcome.

For a long moment, as the sun lifted over the horizon, Valdearg did not move. Then, suddenly, he started sliding over the rocks, crushing them beneath his weight. Immediately, Ionn bounded in the opposite direction. He rounded the corner at a gallop, then halted so fast that I rammed into his uplifted neck and nearly flew over his head. We were face-to-face with Valdearg! The sound we had heard must have come from loose rocks tumbling down the slope.

Ionn reared back, kicking wildly. But at the same moment, the monstrous tail lashed out. The barbs coiled swiftly around my chest, crushing my ribs, then carried me into the air. In an instant, I hung suspended before Valdearg’s snout.

A blast of hot air scorched me as he gave a disgusted grunt. His voice as immense as his open jaws, he demanded, “Why do you not fight me, young wizard? Why do you only flee?”

Barely able to breathe, let alone speak, I rasped, “I have . . . no powers.”

“You have powers enough to murder hatchlings still in their eggs!” The yellow eyes blazed. “Well, grandson of Tuatha, you shall flee no more.”

“You must . . . believe me,” I protested. “I didn’t . . . do it.”

“Shall I begin by biting off one limb at a time?” His purple lips parted as he wrenched a skull off one of his upraised claws. His jaws compressed, crunching the skull completely. “No, I have a better idea. I shall roast you first.”

The rumbling gathered, swelling deep within his chest. It grew steadily louder, while flames started licking his nostrils. At the same time, the tail’s grip on me tightened. My lungs couldn’t breathe. My heart couldn’t beat. The jaws opened wide, as an avalanche of fire rushed toward me.

All at once Valdearg’s ears pricked and he cocked his head slightly. The flames shot past, searing my boots but nothing more. Valdearg released a sudden cry of surprise—and his tail released its hold. I thudded to the ground. Ionn raced to my side as I gasped for air. Wrapping one arm around the stallion’s neck, I struggled to rise—and to see what had distracted the dragon.

Approaching us on the chaired terrain, half hobbling and half flying, came a truly strange creature. At first all I could see was an ungainly mass, as ragged as a storm-lashed sapling. Then I glimpsed a flash of iridescent purple, a crumpled fold of leathery skin, a pair of bony shoulders. And, atop the head supported by a thin, gangly neck, a pair of ears—one of which thrust out to the side like a misplaced horn.

The baby dragon! She had survived!

In a flash, her enormous father spun around, nearly swatting Ionn and me with the bony tip of his wing. He lumbered over to the hatchling, stopping just short of her. His belly rumbled with a steady, soft drone, almost like the purr of an oversized cat, as he placed his snout upon the ground.

Cautiously at first, then whimpering excitedly, the baby dragon allowed his warm breath to blow across her scales. For a long moment they looked at each other, the yellow glow of his eyes melting into the orange glow of hers. Finally, he unfurled his massive wing so that she might crawl into it. Folding its edges around her like a blanket, Valdearg drew his baby near. She gave a contented squeak and huddled closer.

Craning his neck, the dragon lifted his colossal head. To the skies rose a sound unlike any sound heard in Fincayra for ages upon ages, since the birth of Wings of Fire himself. It was a mixture of deep rumbling and high, swirling, ringing notes that flew skyward with the grace of arrows. It was a complex melody, a magical tapestry woven with the lore of generations of dragons. It was, more than anything else, a song of celebration.

Ionn and I listened, transfixed, as Valdearg’s song continued for an hour or more. The hatchling, curled tightly inside her father’s wing, lifted her own snout from time to time. Her ear, as plucky as ever, stretched out to the side. She seemed to be listening to the song as carefully as ourselves, but with native understanding far beyond our own.

In time, the great dragon lowered his head. Moving with the power of a huge wave surging over the sea, his neck swung toward me. As soon as his gaze met my own, the spell of his song disappeared. Fear raced through me. He was coming after me again! I leaped on Ionn’s back, grasping his mane, ready to ride once more.

Just then the baby dragon squealed. The shrill cry arrested me, as it did her father. His orange ears swiveled; his lips curled in puzzlement. She squealed again, this time flapping her little wings frantically. He rumbled, then quieted, as she made several sharp, chirping sounds.

At length, Valdearg’s yellow eyes turned back to me. “It seems, young wizard, that some of what you told me was true.” A dark cloud of smoke rose from his nostrils. “You are not the man who murdered my children.”

Ionn tossed his head, nickering with relief. I gave the side of his neck a pat.

“Yet some of what you said was false: that you have no powers. My daughter here says otherwise.” He glanced at her with obvious affection. “She says you saved her by your magic.”

I shook my head. “Not with my magic. With my herbs, that’s all. It’s different.”

“Not so different as you think.” His huge tail lifted and wrapped around itself, forming a knot of orange and green scales that flashed in the sunlight. “For whatever the magic is called, it has given me back my child.”

30:
W
HEN
E
LEMENTS
M
ERGE

A high-pitched shriek pierced the sky. Like Valdearg, the hatchling, and Ionn, I looked up. And in that instant, my blood froze.

Not one kreelix, but many—at least a dozen—were plunging toward us out of the smoky clouds. Their mouths, gaping, showed their deadly fangs. And on the back of the leader rode the hunched figure of Bachod, his white hair streaming behind him.

Bachod waved his arm to the kreelixes. Angling their bat-like wings, they immediately fanned out in a wide arc. With an ear-shattering series of screeches, they dived downward. Ionn whinnied and snorted, stamping his hooves angrily. My sword rang bravely as I drew it from the scabbard, though I knew well its limits against
negatus mysterium.
In an instant, the kreelixes would be upon us.

Suddenly Valdearg’s tail uncoiled and shot upward. The monstrous whip snapped as it struck one of the kreelixes. The beast screeched and fell lifeless from the sky.

Like a raging swarm of hornets, the remaining kreelixes converged on the great dragon. Diving and swooping, they bore down on him, fangs bared, trying to get close enough to strike. Immense though he was, he moved with dazzling speed—spinning, rolling, and flashing his tail. Yet as long as he remained on the ground, the kreelixes would hold the advantage. At first I wondered why he didn’t take to the air, where he could be just as mobile as they.

Then I remembered: the baby dragon. He was protecting her! Deep in the folds of his wing she cowered, safe for the moment. But as long as he held her wrapped in one of his wings, he could not fly. And staying on the ground made him far more vulnerable.

Ionn paced, whinnying anxiously, as we looked on. Though I brandished my sword and shouted at Bachod and the kreelixes, they ignored me. Nothing I did drew their attention away from the flailing dragon. Ionn reared back, kicking at the air, then galloped in a circle around Valdearg. Still the attackers paid no heed. Bachod didn’t even look our way.

All at once I understood. Since my dear magic had now vanished, they could sense that I possessed no power! Where I might have been at least a mild threat to them before, I was no threat at all to them now. The empty feeling in my chest ached like never before.

The words from the prophecy of
The Dragon’s Eye
echoed in my mind.
Lo! Nothing can stop him Except for one foe Descended from enemies Fought long ago.
A new realization gripped me. Perhaps the prophecy never meant me at all! Perhaps the dragon’s ancient foe, the enemy who would either kill him or be killed in the process, was a kreelix!

But if that was the case, what could the rest of the prophecy mean? Would all the kreelixes perish, or just some of them? And what about that phrase—
a power still higher?
Something that could make elements suddenly merge: air into water, water into fire . . .

Roaring and spitting flames, Valdearg continued to hold off the attackers. His eyes, themselves practically aflame, seemed everywhere at once. The ground beneath us shook with the slamming of his tail. Dust and smoke climbed skyward. His one free wing batted constantly at the air above the wing enfolding the cowering hatchling. In all his days of terror, I felt sure, never had he been more worthy of the name Wings of Fire.

Now three .burned kreelixes lay as smoldering heaps on the ground. The remains of two more, smashed by the tail, had been trampled in the fray. Still, seven kreelixes, including the one bearing Bachod, remained. They swooped and hovered, always seeking a chance to bury their fangs someplace—anyplace—not shielded by scales. The most exposed target, I suddenly realized, was his wing. Curled tightly around his infant, the wing’s leathery folds lay unprotected.

Maybe, with the dragon’s immense bulk, it would take more than one gash to destroy him. The thought gave me a spurt of hope. Then I bit my lip, remembering Cairpré’s warning that even the smallest contact with the kreelix’s fang could end the power—as well as the life—of any magical creature, no matter how large.

At Bachod’s command, the kreelixes climbed upward, so high they were nothing more than tiny black dots in the shreds of smoke. Barely, I could see them arrange themselves into a new formation—like the head of a spear. An instant later, they screeched in unison and soared straight at their enemy. Viscerally, I knew they were aiming for Valdearg’s wing. And only one of them needed to strike home. The baby dragon, sensing the same thing, whimpered and nestled deeper into the folds.

As they shot toward Valdearg, who seemed now less like a wrathful monarch than a protective parent, he released a defiant roar. Bracing for the assault, he swung his massive head toward me. For a fraction of a heartbeat we gazed at each other. Yet even in that brief instant I could not miss the look that I had never before seen in those glowing eyes: the look of fear.

Twisting Ionn’s mane in my hands, I strained my mind to think of something, anything, I could do to help. But what? In seconds, the kreelixes would reach their target.

The baby dragon whimpered, shrinking farther into the wing. How, I wondered, had she revived? Was it possible that I had really given her something more potent than the herbs from my satchel?

Without thinking, I reached inside the satchel. My finger pricked something sharp. The string from my psaltery! What had Cairpré once said it might bring?
High magic, like nothing you have ever known before.
I pulled out the string, warped and blackened by Urnalda’s fiery summons. Might it somehow call forth magic even now? From hands without any magic of their own?

I glanced at the sky. Wings folded against their backs, the kreelixes sped downward. Now I could see Bachod riding the leader, the point of the spearhead. And surrounding him I could see seven snarling mouths, seven sets of fangs.

In desperation, I plucked the string. It twanged, releasing a puff of soot—then fell silent. I heard no music. I felt no magic.

Then, out of the very air around me, I heard a voice.

It was Rhia, reminding me:
Remember all the life around you, and all the life within yourself.
Then, joining her, came the ancient, grinding voice of the living stone.
What is this strange magic within you, young man? How can you resist me? A stone’s power springs from all that surrounds, all that connects.
The hag Domnu cut in.
My pet,
she declared, I
feel magic in you even now.
Finally, the resonant voice of Eremon called to me.
You have power, Merlin. More power than you know.

All the life within yourself . . .

This strange magic within you . . .

I feel it even now . . .

More power than you know . . .

The kreelixes screeched, only an instant away. I looked up to see Bachod leering, his eyes fixed on Valdearg’s bulging wing that shielded his child. The great creature roared for the last time.

The voice of Cairpré joined the others.
Seek your answer within, my boy.
Then came the many voices, blended into one, of the Wheel of Wye:
Thooose pooowers aaare veeery neeear.

A wrenching thought struck me. Perhaps I never lost my powers after all! Perhaps Urnalda merely tricked me into believing that! And yet even if I still had magic, how could I use it now? The kreelixes would just consume it, destroy it. Cairpré had said that magic, applied directly, was futile. That the best weapon was something indirect. What was his phrase?
Something as ordinary, yet as powerful, as air itself.

Air itself! Even as Valdearg’s tail lashed out to strike as many kreelixes as it could, my mind raced through the many virtues of air. Bearer of breath. Of wind. Of sounds and smells. Of water.

Water! Was there any way . . .

The dragon’s tail struck two of the kreelixes, sending them spinning. Yet he had missed Bachod, now only a fraction of an instant away from striking. Valdearg, unable to whip his tail again in time, was helpless.

With all my strength, I willed the air surrounding the kreelixes to chill. To freeze. The psaltery string in my hand suddenly rang out—like a chime within my very chest. The old emptiness vanished, replaced by a surge of power that I knew to be my own.