Ultimate Magic Read Free Page B

for his enemy. For he knew that this battle on high would not end until one of them died. And he also knew that Lo Valdearg, like himself, was searching for that very opportunity.
    Spying one unusually burly fire dragon, Basilgarrad changed tactics. Pivoting in the air, he wrapped his tail around the soldier’s neck, then worked his wings hard to spin himself—and the soldier—in a series of tight circles. The helpless soldier, now a weapon, slammed into dragon after dragon. Wing bones shattered, skulls crunched, and backbones snapped with the impact. Again and again and again.
    At last, having cleared the sky of most enemies, Basilgarrad stopped spinning. Only a few fire dragons remained nearby, watching him warily. But Lo Valdearg was not among them.
    “Where is that coward?” he growled angrily. “Where did he go?”
    Impatiently, he flung aside the battered soldier, tossing him into the trees that bordered the meadow. To his dismay, he spied several dark columns of smoke and spurting flames rising from the forest beyond. Woodroot—on fire!
    Peering at the smoky columns, he shuddered at the sound that now reached him—hundreds of wailing, shrieking voices crying desperately for help. Birds in their nests, squirrels caught on branches, foxes and badgers choking in their dens, panicked deer dashing for an open clearing. All those lives, as well as those of the trees in this magical forest, would soon end in flames.
    Suddenly he caught sight of an orange wing amidst the black smoke. Lo Valdearg! Then he saw the orange dragon breathe a new blast of flames, instantly igniting a grove of ancient cedars. So this is how he fights! Too scared to face me, he attacks those innocent creatures instead. Basilgarrad grimaced, creasing his scaly snout, for he now guessed his enemy’s true motive: to distract him from demolishing the fire dragons, drawing him into a new fight to save the forest. Meanwhile, Lo Valdearg would continue to evade him, and the flamelons would continue hammering at his allies on the ground.
    Those allies, Basilgarrad saw with a quick glance at the battlefield below, were faring badly. Very badly. Bodies of centaurs, elves, men, and women lay everywhere. Though many had died atop a pile of flamelons they had slain, they would fight no longer. And the defenders’ numbers were fast dwindling. Even now, several were fighting for their lives against an onslaught of invaders, while catapulted stones smashed all around them.
    Wait! Is that . . .
    He caught his breath, recognizing one lone dwarf bravely swinging her battle-ax. She stood on top of a fallen fire dragon, charging up and down the lifeless beast’s chest to fight off attackers. Her ax whistled as she swung it savagely, knocking back even the most aggressive flamelons. Yet she couldn’t hold them at bay much longer.
    Though she had grown into an adult, her fierce determination to survive—as well as her father’s oversized battle-ax, still taller than she was—reminded Basilgarrad of the young girl whose life he had saved years before. Strings of quartz crystals adorned her curly red hair, clattering whenever she turned her head, the headdress of a leader of the dwarves. That was no surprise, given the fact she came from impressive stock—including her grandmother, Urnalda, whose friendship with a young wizard named Merlin had long inspired bards, and whose name she now bore.
    Fierce as she was, though, this youthful Urnalda looked increasingly fatigued. Her ax seemed heavier by the minute; her swings grew steadily more erratic. Meanwhile the flamelons pressed her from all sides, forcing her to swing more wildly.
    Beating his wide wings to hold himself aloft, Basilgarrad turned his head back to the forest. Flames were spreading rapidly, consuming elegant spruces and gnarled firs, devouring ancient oaks and young elms along with all the creatures they held. Even a grove of harmona trees, whose branches made wondrous music with every breath of