Ultimate Magic Read Free Page A

pain as he bowled over backward, flipped upside down by the surprise blow. Before the fire dragon could right himself, Basilgarrad emerged from the inferno. He roared as he attacked, his green eyes aglow, his powerful wings slapping the air, his enormous tail already curled to strike again. The heralded defender of Avalon, called Wings of Peace by many throughout the realms, was very much alive.
    And very much enraged.
    A loud cheer erupted from his allies on the grasslands below. Instantly, the ground clash resumed. Though the green dragon’s supporters were greatly outnumbered, and though the flamelons pelted them mercilessly with stones from catapults and burning bundles of oil-soaked wood from flame hurlers, they fought with renewed strength. And renewed hope. Basilgarrad had survived!
    Centaurs charged boldly into the middle of the flamelons’ battalion, galloping full speed, kicking their hooves to drive a wedge between the warriors. Bears lumbered right behind, slamming their paws into the flamelons with such force that their armored chest plates crushed and broke apart. And many flamelon bones and skulls shared the same fate. Dwarves, small but sturdy, swung their axes, while men and women slashed with broadswords and spears. At the same time, elven archers loosed volley after volley of well-aimed arrows, dropping so many attackers that the flamelons’ bodies piled high, forming bloody ridges across the ground.
    Yet even such ferocity could not stop the flamelons’ advance. With terrible efficiency, they overwhelmed the defenders, slashing and pummeling anyone who dared stand in their way. The brave allies, already few in number, grew steadily fewer. Many of them, even in the throes of death, looked again to the sky, hoping that Basilgarrad would prevail against the fire dragons—and return to the ground in time to save at least some of their lives.
    The instant he burst out of the inferno, roaring wrathfully, Basilgarrad swooped down on Lo Valdearg. Still struggling to right himself from the blow to his chest, the fire dragons’ leader feared for his life. Fortunately, he didn’t have any such concern for the lives of his soldiers; they were merely his shield. He shrieked for help—so loudly he popped several scales off his throat.
    More than thirty fire dragons heeded his cry. They hurled themselves directly at this enormous dragon, swarming over him like a mass of leather-winged bees. Despite their vastly superior numbers, and their outrage at this traitor to their kind who had dared to strike their leader, they found themselves facing something quite unexpected—a foe of unimaginable strength whose outrage exceeded their own.
    Basilgarrad moved so fast his gigantic body became a blur. His tail smashed into three dragons’ heads in rapid succession, tore through several others’ wings, then slammed into another one’s chest so hard that the beast flew straight into another pair and knocked them out of the sky. All that happened in the first two seconds. Then Basilgarrad got busy.
    Spinning like a deadly cyclone, he whirled through the attackers. The bony tips of his wings jabbed at foes’ heads, cracking skulls as easily as nutshells, while the wide wings themselves smashed several dragons together and dumped them out in an unconscious heap. His claws, meanwhile, tore at limbs, ripped apart scales, and severed unfortunate heads from their shoulders. Yet nothing caused so much damage as his terrible tail. Swinging and slamming like an unstoppable club, the tail felled dozens of dragons, hurling their limp bodies into the distant sea beyond the borders of the realm.
    Even so, Basilgarrad had only begun to warm to his task. His primary goal—to destroy Lo Valdearg once and for all—still eluded him. Every time he caught sight of the treacherous dragon, another host of soldiers attacked, giving Lo Valdearg time to escape. Despite the fury of battle, Basilgarrad’s sharp eyes continued to scan the skies