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the only dragon who had ever dared to face him in battle: Basilgarrad himself.
    “Well, well,” answered the great green dragon, his own eyes glowing bright. He beat his wings slowly, hovering in place. “If it isn’t Lo Valdearg, that orange snake with wings. I thought you wouldn’t dare attack me again—at least until you grew another beard.”
    The fire dragon roared angrily, shooting a spray of sparks from his nostrils. “I do dare!” he bellowed, as sparks rained down on his snout.
    “Only when you are flanked by a hundred soldiers,” retorted Basilgarrad. His eyebrows, studded with iridescent scales, arched. “Because you wouldn’t have the courage to attack me by yourself. No, without your army to help, you are afraid to fight.”
    “I would fight,” boomed Lo Valdearg. “And I shall.”
    “Not likely! You are as cowardly as ever.”
    The fire dragon snorted with rage. “I am no coward!”
    Basilgarrad’s brows lifted higher. Would his foe really take the bait? Whatever his chances might be against this whole army—and they were slim at best—they would improve dramatically if he could tempt the leader to fight one-on-one.
    Lo Valdearg spun in the air. “Wait here!” he commanded his soldiers. At once, the fire dragons ceased their advance. They hovered in the sky, flanking their leader as he flew alone into combat.
    Unable to keep himself from grinning, Basilgarrad glided nearer, watching Lo Valdearg warily. At the same time, the fire dragon approached, raking the air viciously with his claws.
    “Now we shall see who is truly the greatest dragon,” rumbled Lo Valdearg as he started to circle his opponent.
    “Yes, we shall.” Basilgarrad, too, began to circle. “And we shall also see who is the greatest fool.”
    “That,” snarled Lo Valdearg, “would be you.” He grinned wickedly, showing hundreds of murderous teeth. “For only a complete fool would turn his back on his enemy!”
    Too late, Basilgarrad realized the trap. While Lo Valdearg had always been ready to fight, he’d never intended to keep his word and fight alone. Instead, by circling, he had cleverly maneuvered Basilgarrad into position to be attacked from behind by an entire army of dragons.
    The sky exploded with a terrible onslaught of flames—all directed at Basilgarrad. Amidst that deadly inferno of fire and smoke, he couldn’t even be seen. The mighty roars of dragons, the sizzling crackle of flames, and the surprised screeches of hawks and eagles all filled the air. And with them came another sound—one dragon’s raucous, rasping laughter.
    The battle for Avalon had ended, it seemed, before it had even begun.

2: I NFERNO
    Dying gets easier with a little practice.
    For a long, agonizing moment, Basilgarrad’s supporters on the ground stared up at the sky. Thick black clouds billowed, surrounding the crackling inferno of superheated flames. Somewhere inside all that smoke and fire was the great green dragon—or whatever remained of him.
    Centaurs, whinnying anxiously, paced on the turf; elves and humans stood transfixed, mouths agape; dwarves dropped their axes in horror. Even the flamelon warriors, sensing impending victory, halted their advance to watch.
    A shower of sparks fell to the ground, striking many onlookers. Still they did not take their eyes off the sky. As the clouds slowly started to thin, the intense blaze diminished. Figures became visible—dozens of hovering fire dragons, whose jagged wings seemed to fan the remaining flames. One fire dragon in particular, an orange behemoth much larger than the rest, flew in triumphant circles, waiting to deliver the final blow.
    A shape suddenly burst out of the center of the flames—an immensely long and powerful tail that belonged to a dragon. So crusted with charcoal that it seemed more black than green, the tail whipped out of the blaze with lightning speed. Its massive club slammed full force into the orange dragon’s chest.
    Lo Valdearg bellowed in