The Raging Fires (27 page)

Concentrating all my thoughts on the air, I tried to draw away its heat. The air around Ionn and me instantly shimmered with new warmth. I perspired, less from the heat than from the strain.

At the very moment of contact, the air above Valdearg transformed into a mass of ice, encasing Bachod and the rest of the kreelixes. They had no time even to shriek, although my head reeled from the scarlet explosion of
negatus mysterium
being released. The enormous block of ice fell squarely on the dragon’s back, just below his folded wing.

As the block of ice crashed to the charred terrain, Valdearg bellowed in anger and pain. He released a torrent of flames, so hot that the frozen block erupted in a conflagration of hissing steam and sizzling bodies. Seconds later, all that remained of the incinerated attackers was a pool of water, blood, and fur, licked by tongues of sputtering flames.

Ionn neighed triumphantly. Casting his head about, he frisked and capered. For my part, I dismounted and moved closer to the steaming pool. My mind was filled with the vision of elements having suddenly merged. For air had indeed turned to water? water to fire.

A high-pitched squeal arrested my thoughts. I started, for it sounded almost like a kreelix. In a flash I realized that it was, instead, the baby dragon. She had emerged from the protective wing, her stubborn ear still protruding. Yet my stomach turned to see the expression of grief on her face. And again to see why.

Valdearg, emperor of the dragons, lay still, his head resting heavily on his foreleg. No smoke curled from his nostrils, while his rumbling sounded thinner, frailer, than before. Although his green and orange scales still gleamed in the light, they seemed somehow to have lost their luster. Yet most telling of all was the dimness of his eyes. While they continued to glow, their light seemed as fragile as the flickering flames at the edge of the steaming pool.

Ionn joined me as I stepped nearer. There, at the base of the wing that had shielded the hatchling, I saw a telltale trickle of blood flowing from a small puncture. While a wound of that size might not normally have been even noticed by a dragon, this wound had come from the fang of a kreelix. The hatchling, whimpering softly, stroked the spot with one of her floppy little wings.

“He is dying,” declared a familiar voice.

Ionn and I whirled around. There, facing us, stood a large-eyed doe. Her tan-colored fur was streaked with mud, while her legs bore several scratches and scrapes. Her mud-caked ears cocked toward me.

“Hallia,” I whispered through the lump in my throat. “I thought . . . I thought you were dead.”

“You underestimate me.” She gave a slight snort, pretending to be insulted. “Deer know a few tricks of dodging pursuers, you know. Even kreelixes.” Her deep brown eyes observed me. “You know a few tricks yourself, Merlin. I only arrived a moment ago, yet that was time enough to see what you accomplished.”

I winced. “And did not accomplish.” Turning back to Valdearg, I watched him gazing weakly at his offspring, now curled beside his belly. “My powers have returned, but an instant too late.”

Solemnly, I approached the dragon. Warm air flooded over me with each of his rasping breaths. His yellow eyes, now half closed, turned in my direction.

“Grandson of Tuatha,” the great creature rumbled. “I was wrong. You deserve to be called . . . a wizard.”

My tongue, as dry as wood, worked in my mouth.

He tried to lift his head, then slumped back. “Neither the kreelixes nor I . . . survived this battle. At least I had the joy . . . of roasting them in the end.” His bulk shook with an anguished cough. “My child, though! What of her? Who will teach her . . . to feed herself, to fly, to master her own magic? Who will . . . show her how to find my hollow, our ancestral home? Who will help her to know . . . the high destiny of a dragon?”

Wishing I had my staff to lean against, I shifted uneasily before answering. “I know very little about dragons. And less about their magic. But I do know the way to your hollow, and my heart would be gladdened to guide her there.”

I glanced at Hallia, who now stood on the blackened turf not far from the hatchling. Their eyes, one pair circles of radiant brown and the other pair triangles of glowing orange, were fastened upon each other. Perhaps it was their shared magic, or their shared experience of loss, but I felt certain that these two beings were communicating, speaking to each other in some silent language.

“Your child will be cared for,” I declared.

The dragon’s eyes glowed brighter, then faded rapidly. “Never have I feared anything or anyone,” he rasped. “Until today. Yet what I feared during the battle was not an attack of kreelixes, but the death of my little one.” Another cough racked his body down to the barbs of his tail. “And now . . . now I find myself fearing something else.”

“What?”

“Death. My own death! A dragon craves life, devours it. Swallows it in great, heaping mouthfuls! He is not slain easily—and does not die tranquilly. He resists . . .” He paused, trying to stifle a cough. “To the last.” His baleful eyes, now dull yellow, scanned me. “Yet now I can resist no more. And now, young wizard, I am . . . afraid.”

Slowly, I stepped closer to the immense face. My hand extended to touch the prominent brow above one eye. Without knowing where the words came from, I said, “Just look for the light, Wings of Fire . . . Walk there. Fly there. Your child will be with you. And so will I.”

With that, Valdearg heaved a final breath, releasing a final wisp of smoke. The light in his eyes extinguished. They closed forever.

31:
A
P
OWER
S
TILL
H
IGHER

An endless moment followed. We stood as silent as the charred lands around us, as still as the dead dragon. Only the hatchling stirred from time to time, nuzzling the lifeless body of her father.

Finally, Hallia stepped closer to the baby dragon. As she walked, her deer form melted away, replaced by that of a sturdy young woman. All the while, her soulful eyes remained fixed on the hatchling. As she drew nearer, the creature’s lavender tail uncoiled and thumped anxiously against the ground. Hallia began to sing a slow, soothing melody, full of images of green meadows and sunlit streams. By the time she had reached the baby dragon’s side, the tail fell still. With a single, graceful motion, she sat down, singing all the while.

Following suit, Ionn and I joined them. The stallion, his black coat gleaming in the midday sun, tossed his head in greeting. The baby dragon—half again as tall as Ionn, though much scrawnier—hesitated at first, then responded in kind. When she tossed her own head, though, orange-colored droplets sprinkled the rest of us. Hallia and I traded glances, knowing they were tears.

Hallia stopped singing. Cocking her head to one side, she studied the creature with sympathy. “Your loss is even worse than mine, young one. At least I knew my brother well. So well that I can still hear his breathing as well as his thoughts, almost before I hear my own.”

Gingerly, I reached out and stroked the baby dragon’s uncooperative ear. Although it protruded as stiffly as a branch, stretching longer than my forearm, it felt amazingly soft. Tiny purple hairs covered its entire length. The dragon whimpered quietly, then lowered her snout toward my feet. Without warning, she grasped one of my boots in her jaws and jerked it toward her, knocking me flat on my back.

Hallia grinned. “She recognizes you.”

Despite the ache in my back, I could not keep from grinning myself. “Even more, I think, she recognizes my boot. I used it to feed her when we met before.”

The baby dragon tugged again, pulling the boot free. It was, I realized, the same boot that I myself had chewed upon long ago when I had visited her father’s lair. Before I could reach to take it back, the hatchling tilted back her head and swallowed it whole. I cried out, but too late. The boot was gone.

Ionn released a snort that resembled a hearty laugh. Suddenly he stiffened. His ears pricked forward. He swung his head to the side, stamping the ground with his hoof. Hallia leaped to her feet. Both of us followed Ionn’s gaze.

A band of short, squat figures was approaching from around the edge of the pyramidal hill. Shields and breastplates flashed in the sun. In the center of the group strode a figure bearing a staff, wearing a peaked hat over a mass of unruly red hair. Urnalda.

Though my anger boiled just beneath the surface, I held my tongue. Despite the lack of my boot, I threw back my shoulders and stood as tall as I could.

Urnalda’s earrings of shells glinted as she came near. I could not read the look in her eyes, but her clenched jaw seemed both grim and unremorseful. As the band came within a few paces of us, she slowed and raised a stubby hand. The other dwarves, grasping their axes and bows, halted.

The enchantress stepped forward, examining the corpse of the fallen dragon. She flinched slightly upon seeing the baby dragon nestled there, but said nothing. Her gaze fell to the steaming pool, clotted with the blood and hair of Bachod and the kreelixes.

At last, she turned to me. “I see that your powers be restored.”

My eyes narrowed. “They never left, as you know. You only tricked me into believing they were gone.”

“That be true.” The earrings clinked as she nodded. “The only way a magic-robbing spell can work be if the victim completely believes that his powers be destroyed. Then he and everyone else around him be fooled. It all be part of Urnalda’s plan.”

My hand, still holding the string from my psaltery, closed into a fist. “And was wiping out all but one of Valdearg’s offspring also part of your plan?”

“No,” she replied coldly, twirling the tip of her staff in the blackened soil. “Yet that be not a bad result.”

“What about the kreelixes? Did your plan account for them? Thanks to your help, they stayed this dragon—and would have gone on to slay you and me and every other creature of magic on Fincayra.” My voice lowered to a growl. “In your arrogance, Urnalda, you almost opened the door to Rhita Gawr! It was his plan, not yours, that was guiding your actions. You did it unwittingly, I think, but you still served as his tool.”

Her face, normally pale, flushed deep red. “Bah! I never be wrong,” she declared. Her eyes lowered for just an instant. “It be possible, though, that I be temporarily deceived.”

She extended her hand, palm up. A flash of light split the air, causing several of her dwarves to leap aside, tripping over themselves in the process. There, in her hand, rested my staff. She spat out a few words and the staff floated, twirling gracefully, over to me.

Eagerly, I clutched its shaft, embracing it like the outstretched hand of an old friend. My second sight ran over all the familiar markings—the cracked stone, the sword, the star within a circle, and the rest. All the wisdom of the Seven Songs. Now, at last, I felt completely restored.

Urnalda watched me, playing with one of her shell earrings. “That be for doing what you did to help my people.”

Knowing that was as close to an apology as I would ever get from her, I hefted the staff. “Consider my promise fulfilled.”

She tilted her head toward the huddled form of the baby dragon. “Now there be only one task remaining. Let us, together, destroy the last of those despicable beasts.”

“Wait now,” I declared. “The old dragon’s death could be an opportunity. That’s right—to bridge the ancient divide between the dragons and ourselves. Hard as it will be, couldn’t we try to treat her as our fellow creature? Maybe even as our friend? It’s possible, at least, she might come to do the same for us.”

“Fellow creature? Friend?” she scoffed. “Never! I be seeing far too much of dragons’ wrath for that! You may be finding your powers, but you be losing your mind.” She clapped her hands. “Guards! Raise your weapons.”

Instantly, the dwarves flanking her nocked their arrows and lifted their double-sided axes. They stood poised, awaiting her next command.

I jammed my staff into the ground, splintering a slab of charcoal. “Hear my words, all of you! That dragon shall live.” Glaring at Urnalda, I took a single step closer. My head leaned toward hers. “If you or any of your people should ever try to harm that dragon, through whatever means, for whatever reason, you shall face my own wrath. The wrath . . . of a wizard. What happened to those kreelixes over there will be nothing compared to what will happen to you.”

For a long moment, the enchantress glowered at me. The air between us sizzled, crackling with tiny sparks. Then, without another word, she turned and strode off the way she had come. Hurriedly, her band of squat warriors stowed their weapons and followed, marching as fast as they could to keep pace with her. I watched as they rounded the bend and disappeared behind the hill.

Ionn nudged my arm. I stroked his neck, still staring at the spot where I had last seen the tip of Urnalda’s peaked hat. All of a sudden, Hallia cried out. The stallion and I spun around to see her pointing at the steaming pool, bubbling with the remains of the kreelixes.

Out of the vapors, a shape was forming. A face—with no hair, misshapen teeth, and a wart in the middle of the forehead. I braced myself, knowing it was the image of Domnu. As the hag’s mouth creased in a grisly smile, blue flames licked the edges of the pool.

“Well, my pets, you survived. I wouldn’t have predicted it.” The flames swelled, gathering around her eyes. “Even my little pony over there survived.”

Ionn’s hoof thudded against the ground. He neighed defiantly.

The vaporous form, vibrating with the rising steam, wrinkled her scalp. “Now, what about our bargain?”

I shook my head. “The Galator is lost. Buried under a mountain of lava.”

Blue flames leaped from her eyes. “You wouldn’t think of betraying me now, would you?”

“No,” I replied. “Unlike some people, I don’t go back on my word.” I indicated the simmering pool beneath her. “But the thief who stole it from your lair won’t bother you again.”

Domnu scowled, her whole face writhing. “Bones. Boiling bones! Gone before I had any chance to play with it! Well . . . so be it. I really didn’t like the color of the cursed thing anyway. Farewell, my pets.”