Ultimate Magic

by T.A. Barron

  Yet as he watched the vile swarm approaching, he felt a great pang of sorrow. Darker than dark. That was the phrase that described the monster of the Marsh, and it also described the plans of its master, Rhita Gawr, to conquer Avalon. Now, as the deadly swarm arrived, he could do nothing to foil those plans and end this madness.

  He looked again at Marnya. He saw in her face both courage and loyalty. As well as love. But not the slightest hint of hope. That did not surprise him, since he felt no hope himself.

  Shadows from the sky darkened his brow. “All right,” he declared, certain he would never say these words again. “It’s time to fly.”

  Basilgarrad spread his wings, so wide they reached almost across the battlefield. He clenched his massive jaws and tensed his legs to leap into the sky. Marnya, he knew, would follow right behind—and their deaths, he knew also, would come soon after that. His claws dug deep into the turf as he started to spring.

  “No need to do that, old chap.”

  The dragon started, then whirled around. That voice! Could it be?

  Sure enough, he found himself facing an old friend. It was someone who had seen even more adventures than he had, someone who had a special knack for surprises.

  Basilgarrad studied the friend in disbelief. “Hello, Merlin.”

  9: ILLUMINATION

  What good are eyes, without the will to see? And what good is that will, without the light to see by?

  Hello, Basil.”

  Merlin, wearing a long blue robe whose seams had been embroidered with silver stars, peered at the dragon. His coal-black eyes sparkled. His gnarled staff, too, seemed to glow. While he couldn’t be sure, Basilgarrad thought that one place in particular—the rune of a dragon’s tail, carved into the shaft—glowed extra bright.

  “Well, now,” the wizard said with breezy casualness, “has anything new happened since I left?”

  “Anything new!” bellowed Basilgarrad, loud enough to blow off the wizard’s hat.

  Tall, pointed, and severely crumpled, the hat fell to the ground at Merlin’s feet. As he bent down to retrieve it, something stirred within the hairs of his bushy beard. Out from the middle of the beard, about halfway down the wizard’s chest, emerged a small gray head, tufted with feathers, with two bright yellow eyes and a perilous beak.

  “An owl!” said Marnya, stretching her neck to look more closely. “I’ve always wanted to see one.” Still thunderstruck by Merlin’s sudden appearance, she kept shifting her gaze from the wizard to the owl and back.

  “Yes, yes, an owl,” said Merlin, picking up his hat. “And a rather willful one, at that.”

  Using the tip of his finger, he pushed the owl’s head back into the folds of his beard. Now more gray than black, the beard provided perfect camouflage for the owl’s feathers. Now stay there, Euclid, until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”

  From deep inside his beard came the sharp clack of the owl’s beak.

  Jauntily, Merlin replaced his hat. Then, turning back to Basilgarrad, he asked, “Now, what were you about to say?”

  “That you are as maddening as ever!” answered the dragon. His long ears swiveled. “But we’ll talk about that later. Right now, we must deal with something more serious.”

  Basilgarrad glanced up at the approaching swarm of deadly leeches, so thick they blackened much of the sky. Now less than one league away, they were closing in fast. Already the strange whirring sound of their flight—as well as their rancid odor—had reached the battlefield. All around Merlin and the dragons, the warriors whom Basilgarrad had so recently calmed started to stir nervously. Many uttered prayers to the gods Dagda and Lorilanda; an equal number fingered their weapons, although they knew that mere blades wouldn’t help against this enemy.

  “Ah, yes,” said the wizard, following the dragon’s gaze. “I suppose we ought to deal with that.”

  Basilgarrad started to nod emphatically, until the wizard spoke again.

  “That smell, I mean. Quite dastardly! Like curdled milk, only worse.”

  “Not just the smell,” snapped the dragon. “Those evil leeches!”

  “Hmmm, I see.” Merlin peered at the sky. “They do look troublesome.”

  Even as he spoke, the sky darkened significantly. Shadows deepened across the battlefield, the remains of the fallen, and the anxious faces of all those who had survived. A chill wind swelled, sweeping over everyone. The whirring sound grew louder, the odor more noxious.

  “Right!” bellowed Basilgarrad. “But how do we stop them? Those leeches will suck the life out of anyone they touch!”

  “Quite so,” agreed Merlin, seeming to be no more perturbed than if the dragon had pointed out a loose thread on his robe. “Before I tend to that matter, however, I want you to introduce me to your friend.”

  “My what?” Basilgarrad, frustrated to the breaking point, slammed his tail into the turf.

  “Your friend there.” The wizard gestured with the handle of his staff. “The one with the marvelously blue eyes.”

  “I am Marnya,” she said, not waiting for Basilgarrad to calm himself enough to introduce her. “And I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, my dear.” He gave a slight bow, all the while holding his finger over his beard in case Euclid decided to pop out again.

  Turning to Basilgarrad, the wizard said calmly, “Now, then, with the introductions behind us, we can take care of business.” He waved a hand at the blackened sky, now teeming with leeches. “What shall we do about them?”

  “Whatever we can!” roared the dragon. “They’ll be here in seconds!” He clawed the ground. “I’m going to attack them, unless you have a better idea.”

  “So will I,” declared Marnya.

  The wizard’s eyes seemed to shine brighter than ever, despite the darkening shadows that covered everyone. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Suddenly grim-faced, Merlin grasped his staff with both hands. He lifted it up, then forcefully jammed its tip into the ground by his feet. Holding tight to the shaft, he peered at it, concentrating his thoughts, then began to chant.

  Fire of light,

  Fire of life—

  Brighten the darkness,

  Ending our strife.

  Break binding shadows,

  Barriers rife—

  Illumination:

  Fire of life.

  Glancing up at the dragons, he said, “If I were you, I’d close my eyes.” Then, turning back to the staff, he spoke one simple command:

  “Now.”

  In one instantaneous flash, thousands of thin beams of light shot out of the staff. Zzzzzaaapp! Like an exploding star, the light burst forth—with every single beam directed at one of the minions overhead.

  Skewered by the light beams, the leeches died instantly. Their whirring noise abruptly ceased. Whatever crude intelligence they might have possessed, whatever hatred for their master’s enemies they carried—all that vanished. They dropped out of the sky, falling like terrible, nightmarish rain. Their lifeless bodies fell onto the forests and meadows below, making a crunching sound as they struck, spotting the ground with their dark remains.

  For a long moment, no one uttered a sound. The world fell quiet. In time, a gentle breeze moved through, rustling the leaves of the trees, carrying away the rancid smell. And then, as one, the survivors cheered. They raised their voices in shouts, brays, chirps, screeches, howls, hoots, and—in the case of Basilgarrad and Marnya—resounding roars.

  Jubilation bloomed on the battlefield. Warriors raised their arms to the sky, cheering with all their hearts. Men and women embraced, elves danced, dwarves followed the lead of Urnalda and spun joyous circles around their axes. Even the surviving bears rolled exuberantly on the grass, kicking their burly legs and waving their paws. And in a tree at the far side of the battlefield, one little dragon whooped in delight, spread his wings, and flew over to be nearer to Basilgarrad.

  Merlin allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. With the palm of his h
and, he patted the top of his staff. Quietly, he said, “Well done, old friend.”

  Lifting his face, his gaze met Basilgarrad’s. For the first time in many years, they heard each other’s thoughts.

  Nice work, offered the dragon, bending his ears toward the wizard. But it took you long enough to get here.

  Yes, well, I met a few distractions on the way. A young and headstrong king tromping off to find the Holy Grail, a palace revolt, and a sorceress who tried to entrap me in a cave—the usual sort of thing. Nothing extraordinary. The wizard sighed and said aloud, “But I made it here, at last.”

  “That you did,” agreed the dragon. “With your usual dramatic entrance.”

  Merlin chuckled, then his expression became serious. “I hope,” he said softly, “that the losses haven’t been too great.”

  Basilgarrad’s silent stare said everything.

  “I am sorry, Basil. Deeply sorry.” He drew a long, slow breath. “Just as I arrived, though, I heard what you said to the others here. An excellent speech, with some hard-won wisdom.”

  “Too hard-won,” answered the dragon solemnly, his gaze roaming across the field strewn with bodies. “Many people, too many, have died to protect Avalon. From the smallest of faeries to”—he paused to trade a glance with Marnya—“to the greatest of dragons.”

  “I know,” said Merlin, eyeing the corpse of Babd Catha on the ground. “That is one fallen warrior who fought bravely, I’m sure.”

  “Most bravely.” Basilgarrad’s nostrils flared. “She must have felled two hundred invaders.”

  “And wished,” Merlin added fondly, “for two hundred and one.”

  “And all she asked,” added Marnya with a wave of her flipper, “was to be buried in the high peaks, under the snow.”

  “Snow?” sputtered Merlin. “But she hated snow, at least according to the bards.”

  “They were wrong.” The dragon moved his snout closer, so that his nose practically touched Merlin’s robe. “Now that you’re back, we have work to do. Important work.”

  The wizard’s white eyebrows, as fluffy as clouds, lifted. “Tell me, Basil.”

  “We must go to the Haunted Marsh! A shadowy beast lurks there, a monster known only as darker than dark.” With the tip of his claw, he scraped some of the dead leeches on the ground. “It serves Rhita Gawr—and it certainly won’t stop just because we’ve destroyed its minions.”

  Gravely, Merlin stroked his chin. “Who knows what other evil it could be planning? For us all—and for Avalon.”

  “You’ll come, then? Even though all our efforts might not be enough?”

  Merlin grinned. “Sounds like old times, my friend. Besides, as you know, even the smallest effort can matter.” He twirled the hairs at the tip of his beard. “Long ago, I planted a certain seed, smaller than a pebble, with no idea—none at all—what it might become. A tiny, insignificant gesture at the time. But then the seed grew into this magical world, this chance to find peace at last.”

  He jabbed his staff into the ground. “We still have that chance, Basil. Despite all that has happened.” He drew a long breath. “And we must do whatever we can to keep it alive.”

  “What about Babd Catha?” asked Marnya. “We must heed her last request. That means a detour to the high peaks.”

  Basilgarrad sighed deeply. “You’re right. But it will cost us time. Precious time.”

  “I will take her,” declared a resolute voice.

  All eyes turned to Urnalda, who had been listening to the conversation. She leaned against her ax handle, her squat frame as sturdy as ever despite the arduous battle she’d just fought. She nodded in greeting to Basilgarrad, Marnya, and Merlin, clinking the crystals in her hair.

  “My people will pass near the high peaks on our way home,” she explained. “It would be an honor to bear the body of such a great warrior.”

  Basilgarrad angled his ears toward her. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “It is I,” she replied, “who should thank you. For all you have done today.”

  “All we have done,” countered the dragon.

  Merlin gave her a respectful bow. “Including you, Urnalda. Your grandmother, the first to bear your name, would be proud.”

  For the first time in that long day, the dwarf smiled. Then she spun on her boots and beckoned to her soldiers. Immediately, a dozen grim-faced dwarves strode to her side. They quickly made a stretcher from their cloaks and ax handles, gently lifted the body of Babd Catha, and marched away.

  “Don’t forget,” called Basilgarrad. “In the snow.” Without turning around, Urnalda waved her stout arm in agreement.

  The great green dragon faced Marnya. “Now, I’m afraid, we must—”

  “Don’t even think about it,” interrupted the water dragon. Her azure eyes bored into him. “I am coming with you.”

  “But—”

  She slammed her flippers on the ground for emphasis, spraying mud on both of their scales. “I am coming.”

  Basilgarrad knew he was beaten. “All right,” he grumbled. “You win.”

  “Well done, lad,” commented Merlin. “You’re well on your way to a good life together.”

  Before the dragon could answer, another voice piped up. Though not so deep as Marnya’s, it sounded equally determined.

  “Me, too!” cried Ganta. His little body quaked with excitement as he scampered across the mud and skidded to a halt in front of the dragon he so greatly admired. “Please, master Basil, let me come with you.”

  “Absolutely not,” roared his enormous uncle. “You have lived through a terrible battle today, and fought well. But I cannot allow you to risk your life again so soon.”

  “But, master Basil, I want to come!”

  “No, Ganta. When you are older, perhaps. When you can breathe fire. Then I will take you.”

  “Please?”

  “No!”

  Ganta peered up at Basilgarrad and scrunched his little nose. “If you don’t let me come, I’ll just follow you anyway! You can’t stop me.”

  The green dragon scowled at him, rumbling in his throat.

  “Looks like stubbornness is a family trait, old chap.” Merlin placed his hand on Basilgarrad’s lower jaw. “He doesn’t leave you much choice.”

  The dragon’s eyes narrowed as he squinted down at Ganta. “So be it. You can come. But you must keep up with the rest of us.”

  “I will, master Basil, I will!” Ganta jumped up and down with excitement, splattering his small wings with mud.

  Basilgarrad drew a dragon-size breath. He glanced at each of his companions, then declared: “All right. Time to fly.”

  10: MYSTERIES

  Some questions must be answered. Others, though, should never be asked.

  Wait!”

  Merlin’s command echoed across the battlefield. Marnya stiffened her back and flippers, while Ganta clacked his little teeth in surprise. At the same time, warriors across the corpse-strewn meadow jolted to attention. Centaurs, their horses’ legs and haunches splattered with mud, turned to see what the wizard wanted. Elves, striding into the forest to return home, halted in midstep. An old eagle, perched on Lo Valdearg’s lifeless tail, trained his golden eyes on the mage. A young woman, limping because of a gash on her thigh, stopped to watch.

  But Merlin paid no attention to them. His gaze fell squarely on the one creature to whom he’d directed his command, the great green dragon beside him.

  Basilgarrad stopped unfurling his wings, though they had already stretched far enough to shadow half the field. He shifted his massive bulk, grinding against the soil as if he were a mountain that could somehow pivot on its base. Slowly, he turned his head toward his friend. Their gazes met: The dragon’s eyes, glowing green, peered into a coal-black pair that glittered with magic.

  “Why?” demanded the dragon. “We must go! We can’t afford to lose any more time.”

  Merlin merely stroked his long beard. From somewhere in the middle of the mass of gray hair came the shar
p snap of an owl’s beak. But the wizard didn’t seem to notice.

  “I understand,” he said at last. “Yet we also can’t afford to plunge into this new battle with no forethought.” He twirled a strand of gray hair around his finger. “Just what do you know about this monster who sent the minions?”

  “Precious little. Except that it smuggled itself into Avalon disguised as a leech.” The dragon ground his spear-sharp teeth, recalling the leech’s attempt, long ago, to kill him with malevolent magic. “And that it has grown steadily stronger, becoming so powerful it could attack us with this evil pestilence.”

  He swished the tip of his tail, hurling a dozen minion carcasses into the air. Two or three of them bounced off Merlin’s blue robe. One hit the top of his shaft, which sizzled with sparks that instantly burned the carcass into ashes. And one grazed the side of Marnya’s neck, making her rear up like a startled mare. She glared at the dead minion, growling angrily. Meanwhile, the scales on her neck turned shadowy gray for several seconds before finally returning to luminous blue.

  Beneath his beard, Merlin scowled. “Anything else? Anything at all?”

  “Only that it serves Rhita Gawr. And that its form is”—the dragon paused, recalling the shadowy image he’d first seen in Bendegeit’s lair—“darker than dark.”

  Merlin’s fingers reached deeper into his beard, twirling ropes of hair. A sudden snap made him yelp and nearly jump out of his boots. He yanked his hand away from the beard, vigorously shaking a nipped finger.

  “Now, Euclid,” he scolded. “That was rude, brutal, and disgraceful! As well as positively unowlish.” He frowned, examining his bruised fingertip. “Save your bites for mealtimes!”

  From deep within his beard, muffled by all the hair, came a mirthful chuckling sound. Two yellow eyes gleamed mischievously, then disappeared in the gray strands.

  Giving his finger another shake, Merlin turned again to the dragon. “All this is mysterious, Basil. Very mysterious.”