Ultimate Magic by T. A. Barron Read Free Book Online Page B

ran away, tripping over themselves to escape. At the same time, surviving flamelons all around the battlefield grasped the bitter truth. Their invasion, so certain to be victorious at the outset, had failed. Catastrophically.
    As if they suddenly smelled that fact on the breeze, flamelons began a hasty retreat. Soldiers by the dozen broke ranks and ran off, stumbling into the neighboring forests, often pursued by an angry centaur or a band of elven archers. Only a few moments after Lo Valdearg had crashed to the ground, the battlefield was nearly empty of attackers.
    Despite their vastly superior numbers, training, and weaponry, the invading armies had gained only a bloodbath. Scattered across the meadows, pristine just yesterday, lay piles and piles of dead flamelon soldiers and fire dragons. Although many of the defending fighters had also died, they had battled with such vigor and courage that many others had survived.
    Basilgarrad scanned the battlefield, still grieving for the losses but also proud. Really proud—of the people who had bravely thrown themselves at this overwhelming enemy, motivated not by greed and vengeance but by love. For their homes, their freedom, their world. Maybe , he thought, they weren’t so foolish after all.
    He sensed, too, that this battle had finally broken the ugly alliance between the warlike flamelons and the jewel-hungry fire dragons. That it could well have ended the agony of the War of Storms, leaving only the monster in the Haunted Marsh to be confronted. And that its fiery combat in the sky and on the ground would make it famous in the ballads of wandering bards. The Battle of Fires Unending, he mused, would make a good name.
    Glancing at the sky, he saw Marnya descending. Her long, sturdy flippers rode the air with ease; she’d certainly improved from that first awkward lesson outside her father’s lair. As she approached, her azure blue eyes outshone even his memory of them.
    Then he heard a painful moan nearby. Babd Catha! The old warrior, her gray hair splattered with blood, lay on her back, sword by her side. Her body, riven with gashes, trembled with every breath.
    Quickly, he swung his snout to her side. She looked directly up into his enormous face, meeting his gaze with her own. Fire still burned in her dark brown eyes, undiminished by pain and loss of blood.
    “Dragon,” she said gruffly, “ye should’ve let me finish off them soldiers. I had them on the run.”
    Taken aback, Basilgarrad blinked his huge eyes in surprise. Part of him wanted to grin at her feisty nature, while most of him wanted to ease her agony. “I know,” he said at last, “but I decided to end their misery. You would have been far less merciful.”
    Pleased with his response, she chortled hoarsely. But the laugh quickly turned into a cough, brutal and violent. Flecks of blood splattered her cracked lips. After a long moment, the coughing finally ended, leaving her chest heaving and her fire considerably dimmed.
    “How can I help y—”
    “Dragon,” she sputtered, cutting him off, “I want ye to live. Aye, live! An’ fight some more fer Avalon.”
    “I will,” his deep voice rumbled. “But can I help you somehow? I can’t heal you with magic, like Merlin. The only magic I know is how to cast smells, and that’s utterly useless! Maybe, though, there is something I can do.”
    “Jest live,” she declared, her wrinkled brow quivering. “This was a good battle to die. A proud last battle.” She started to cough, but fought it back. “Fer me, but not fer you! This place, this world, dragon . . . it needs the likes of us. Warriors who would rather . . . live in peace.”
    Basilgarrad blinked again, trying to clear the clouds from his vision. “But who,” he added, “will fight to the death to protect our friends.”
    The old warrior’s hand, moving feebly, wrapped around the hilt of her sword. “Not jest our friends. Our beautiful world. Our bold idea.”
    Our bold idea , he