Ultimate Magic (22 page)

“Tell me, then,” he pressed. He moved his ear, giving the wizard a nudge. “What is this small request?”

“Well . . .” Merlin paused to take a deep breath. “It’s just that . . .”

“Yes?”

“I want you,” said Merlin at last, “to make one more sacrifice. The greatest sacrifice of all.”

“What?” Basilgarrad’s throat vibrated with a loud rumble.

“You want me to stay away from Marnya?”

“No, no. Not that.”

The dragon shook his head as he glided lower, skimming past the vertical ridges of the great trunk. “That’s good, because I would never agree to it. Never.”

“I assure you,” said the wizard, “you won’t have to leave Marnya. You can even stay with her in that new lair of yours. At least until the time comes for you to . . . well, to do something else.”

Basilgarrad flapped his wings, guiding them over a mountain that rose from an especially burly branch. Its summit shone with fresh snow. He glanced down at a herd of strange three-horned beasts that galloped across a white ridge, so similar to—and yet so different from—the elk he’d often seen running through the high peaks of Stoneroot.

“So tell me,” he asked, “what is this sacrifice?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“I know that already!”

“Well, Basil . . .” Merlin cleared his throat. “I want you to become . . .
small again
.”

“What?” roared the dragon, so loud his voice echoed among the branches of the Great Tree. “You want me to
what
?”

“Become small again,” the wizard replied, his own voice sounding meek and small by comparison.

“No!” bellowed Basilgarrad. He spun a complete loop in the air, nearly dislodging his passenger. “Why in the name of Avalon would you want me to do that?”

“Because,” answered Merlin while clinging tightly to the dragon’s ear, “if you become small again, that would be the ultimate disguise. You can wait in hiding.”

“Wait for
what
?” Branches seemed to rock from the force of the shout.

“For Rhita Gawr! He will return someday, I’m sure of that. And he will try, once again, to conquer Avalon.”

A deep, angry rumble came from the dragon’s throat.

“But if,” the wizard continued, “he doesn’t hear anything for years about you—the great green dragon who defeated him—he will conclude you are dead. And he will grow careless and assume that you no longer threaten his plans.”

Merlin leaned into the dragon’s ear and whispered excitedly, “That’s when you can foil him! You see, I have foreseen that I will have a true heir, a brave lass or lad who will try to stop Rhita Gawr. But that young person will need your help to prevail.”

“Never,” declared Basilgarrad. “I do not hide from anyone. I do not wait in disguise. And most of all, I do
not
want to be small. No, never again!”

“But Basil,” the wizard protested, “it won’t be forever. Just . . . a few centuries.”

“Centuries!” bellowed the dragon. “Not only do you want me to give up my size, but to live that way for hundreds of years?”

“Only a few hundred,” said Merlin meekly.

“No! Without question, no.”

“Won’t you even consider—”

“No.” The dragon shook his head for emphasis, which knocked Merlin to his knees. “Absolutely no!”

Slowly, the wizard stood again. Supporting himself against the dragon’s ear, he pleaded, “The entire fate of Avalon will hang in the balance.”

“No.”

“My heir will need to be carried to the stars, just as you have carried me.”

“No.”

“You will face Rhita Gawr again in combat. It will be, I predict, the greatest battle in Avalon’s history. And it will happen not on the land, but in the sky. It will be a battle that will shake the stars.”

Basilgarrad didn’t respond. He merely stretched his wings to their widest and glided downward, circling over the branch realms. Wind flowed across his face, whistling through the gap in his teeth. At last, the corners of his gigantic mouth lifted in a terrible grin.

“Combat?” he asked. “Me against Rhita Gawr?”

“Right,” answered Merlin, nodding eagerly.

“The entire fate of Avalon will hang in the balance?”

“Right again.”

“The chances of success?”

“Very low, I’m afraid.”

“And the risk of death?”

“Very high, I’m afraid.”

“Then,” declared Basilgarrad with a thunderous roar, “I shall do it.”

“Really?” Merlin practically skipped on the dragon’s scales, he was so relieved.

“Yes,” agreed Basilgarrad, nodding his enormous head.

“For if I win, Avalon will continue to thrive. And if I lose . . . that would be a death truly worthy of a dragon.”

Merlin stroked the soft hair that lined the dragon’s ear. “My friend,” he declared, “you are even bigger than your great body.”

Basilgarrad roared in agreement. And his roar echoed from the root-realms all the way to the stars.

E
PILOGUE

The older I get, the more I enjoy a new day, a new friend, and best of all, a new adventure.

More than three centuries later, in the Year of Avalon 1002, a tiny lizard sat in the crack of a rocky ledge. A breeze blew over him, ruffling his cupped ears and batlike wings. In his little eyes, a strange green fire glowed. For he could see, at long last, the young person he’d been waiting for all these years, striding toward him on the grassy trail.

As the person neared, the tiny creature’s eyes flashed brightly. From the excitement of what he knew was to come. And also from the certainty of where he wanted to go after this adventure ended: to a cavernous lair in the cliffs overlooking the Rainbow Seas. There he would find a certain water dragon whose radiant blue eyes he knew well. She was waiting for him in that place, along with a feisty young dragon with turquoise scales.

He unfolded his wings slowly—as if he were not just a tiny, zany-looking lizard but a glorious, powerful dragon. Then he announced, his voice thin but determined:

“All right. It’s time to fly.”