Doomraga's Revenge (11 page)

For a frozen moment, no one spoke. The young dragon could only stare, quaking with fright. Basilgarrad, for his part, was in no hurry. And Gwynnia, worried as she was about the safety of her child, didn’t want to do anything that might antagonize this gigantic predator who could gobble up her whole family in the blink of an eye.

Finally, Basilgarrad turned to Gwynnia. As their gazes met, he said the last thing she ever expected: “Hello, sister. Remember me?”

Gwynnia gasped, and her triangular eyes opened to their widest. Deep in her orange pupils, a spark of recognition flared as she recalled that bizarre connection she’d felt with a tiny green lizard she’d met long before. A lizard who looked much like this dragon—except infinitely smaller.

“Y-y-you?” she stammered. “From Merlin’s wedding? But you were—you were so . . . so very—”

“Small?”

Gwynnia nodded, making the iridescent purple scales on her neck flash like jewels.

“Yes. Small enough to be torn apart and eaten by one of your children.” His ear flicked toward the quaking youth. “
That
one. Who, now that I’m fully grown, could make a tasty little morsel for my dessert.”

“No, please,” Gwynnia pleaded. “You won’t eat my little Ganta, will you? He—well, he . . . didn’t know any better.”

“Then,” declared the great green dragon, “it’s time he learned.”

Gwynnia, fearing the worst, gasped again. Several of her children whimpered; one dived under her wing.

Slowly, the massive head turned back to young Ganta. Peering into the small orange eyes, the gigantic dragon said, “I am Basilgarrad, defender of Avalon. And I have something to teach you.”

Despite his quivering frame, the smaller dragon tried to hold his head high. “Punish me, master Basil . . . whatever. Do what you like. But please don’t hurt my mother or my family.”

The corner of Basilgarrad’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.
I like that spirit. Maybe there’s hope for this little fellow yet.

“Well, Ganta, what do you think I’m going to do to you?”

“Anything you want, master Basil.”

“And why is that?”

The little dragon’s snout crinkled in surprise at being asked such an obvious question. “Because you’re bigger, of course! If you’re bigger, you do what you want.”

Basilgarrad brought his face right up to the young dragon’s. “No,” he declared. “That’s not right.”

Ganta blinked, clearly puzzled.

“Bigness,” said Basilgarrad, “is not about what you weigh. It’s about what you
do
. How you act. How you treat others.”

Pulling his face away, he continued, “Which is why, young Ganta, I’m not going to eat you.” To keep the little fellow’s attention, he added, “Not now, anyway.”

Gwynnia joined her son in heaving a sigh.

Basilgarrad gave his sister a broad wink. “Besides, I really don’t think he’d taste very good.”

With that, he leaped skyward, pumping his mighty wings. He felt well fed, and also well entertained—but now he had serious work to do in the remote reaches of Waterroot. As he veered south, toward the lair of the water dragons, Gwynnia and her children watched with both awe and relief. And in the case of one young dragon . . . with intrigue.

14:
B
LUE
I
CE

What makes people so eager to fight me? I guess they don’t put much value on my life. Or on theirs.

A colossal splash exploded, sending jets of water soaring skyward. For leagues around, fish and water birds and mer folk scattered, trying to escape whatever had hit the sea with such force. Even kelp and floating scraps of driftwood, pushed aside by the powerful waves, seemed to swim away.

Basilgarrad had arrived in the Rainbow Seas.

He scanned the ocean around him, laced with iridescent streaks of color, then drew a deep breath of the briny air. Paddling with his wings, as if they were enormous flippers, and using his immense tail as a rudder, he turned himself around to face the rugged coastline. Following the line of sheer cliffs, he saw, directly ahead, the mouth of a huge cave. Colorful shells ringed the entrance, barnacles by the thousands clung to the rocks, and the air smelled of fish and otters and seals.

Basilgarrad peered at the gaping mouth of the cave, hoping this was the place he’d been seeking. Yet his thoughts were heavy with doubt.
This isn’t what I expected.

He frowned, knowing that time was short. He couldn’t afford to spend days and days searching for Bendegeit’s lair. The blight was spreading—and whatever was causing it, and Avalon’s other troubles, was surely growing stronger.

All at once, ocean spray shot upward right in front of him. Three great heads rose out of the waves—heads with massive, teeth-studded jaws, deep blue eyes, and finlike ears. The heads of water dragons. As the trio lifted higher, water cascaded off their ears and snouts, pouring over scales the color of glacial blue ice.

The dragons drew themselves together, linking their powerful shoulders. Barring the way to the cave entrance, they looked like an impassable wall that had suddenly jutted out of the sea. A wall with countless blue-tinted teeth.

“Come no closer,” bellowed the dragon in the middle, who was somewhat larger than his companions. “Or you shall die.”

Facing these fierce guardians of the cave, Basilgarrad said to himself, “Now
that’s
what I expected.”

Treading their flippers, the trio of water dragons advanced, holding their close formation. “Leave now,” ordered the middle dragon, whose face bore a deep scar across his snout.

“I come in peace,” declared Basilgarrad, still watching them carefully. “I must speak with your highlord Bendegeit.”

“No one speaks with the highlord unless he so commands. Now leave.”

“But I—”

The middle dragon tossed his head impatiently, spraying his companions. The scar on his snout turned bright silver, the color of dragons’ blood. “Leave! I shall count to three. One.”

“I told you, I mean no harm.” Recalling Merlin’s firm admonition—avoid any battles—he repeated, “I come in peace.”

The guardians advanced. “Two.”

“Honestly, I—”

“Three. Charge!”

At the dragon’s command, all three guardians swam forward, moving with astounding speed. Jaws open, eyes ablaze, they shot toward the intruder who dared to refuse to leave.

Basilgarrad, however, moved faster. Pulling his wings—which were much longer than the flippers that water dragons normally encountered—out of the sea, as fast as a pair of whips, he smashed the heads of the two outside dragons. Their skulls struck both sides of the middle dragon’s, making a loud
crrunnnch
. As water sprayed all around, the two outside dragons teetered and fell over sideways, knocked unconscious.

The scarred dragon, stronger than the others (or just thicker in the skull), managed to stay upright. Though dazed, he roared wrathfully and started to attack, blowing a torrent of blue ice from his nostrils. Calmly, Basilgarrad solved this problem with a flick of his mighty tail. When the massive knob landed another blow on the water dragon’s head, he keeled over, joining his companions.

To make sure they didn’t drown, Basilgarrad wrapped his tail around their necks to lift their heads out of the water. He swam toward the cave entrance, towing them to shore as a larger boat might pull three smaller boats into harbor. Dumping them safely on the barnacle-covered rocks, he gazed at them thoughtfully.

“Well,” he muttered, “so much for no battles.”

Turning away from the unconscious guards, he sailed into the mouth of the cave. He did not notice, protruding from the waves a short way out to sea, the top of another dragon’s head. Its eyes, a richer, luminous blue that glittered like water-washed azure, watched his movements closely. As he entered the cave, the hidden dragon followed.

To Basilgarrad’s surprise, the cave didn’t grow any darker as he sailed deeper. Quite the opposite: The farther he swam into the tunnel, the brighter it became. Then, all at once, it expanded into a vast, high-ceilinged cavern bathed in pearly light. The source of that light was an array of torches suspended from the rock walls. But these torches differed from any he’d ever seen. Instead of bearing flames, they held clear bubbles of seaglass filled with phosphorescent water from the ocean depths.

Lit by the gleaming torches, the cavern’s walls arched high overhead. Iridescent paua shells, shimmering with violet and blue, lined all the lower surfaces. On the shells’ protruding edges sat dozens of loons, terns, egrets, and flying crabs—all cooing, whistling, and snapping. On the ceiling, sea stars of gold, blue, green, and red had been arranged into a mosaic of many scenes: dragons sailing bravely out to sea, water birds wheeling through misty skies, nets of woven kelp hauling loads of fish, and an enormous dragon wearing a crown studded with undersea coral and jewels.

Bendegeit
, thought the green dragon as he swam toward the center of the cavern. His nostrils flared. Mixed with the dominant smells of water birds, algae, sea salt, kelp, and barnacles, he detected one more smell. Elusive but unmistakable, the smell seemed as rich and deep as the sea itself.

He nodded grimly. It was the smell of dragons—one dragon in particular. A dragon who had made this cavern, like this undersea realm, his own domain.

The water before him began to roil, churning with conflicting currents. All at once, a huge head rose out of the surface, rivers of water pouring off its immense snout and brow. A crown of golden coral, studded with diamond and emeralds, topped the head. More jewels, mostly rubies, had been set within barnacles that lined the toothy jaws. But none of these jewels glowed as bright as this dragon’s eyes. Unlike the azure blue eyes of the dragon who had followed Basilgarrad—and who continued to watch him closely from the far side of the cavern—this dragon’s eyes glowed orange with flecks of scarlet, as if they were aflame.

“You darrrrre to enterrrrr my caverrrrrn?” he rumbled. “The lairrrrr of Bendegeit, highlorrrrrd of the waterrrrr drrrrragons?”

“I do,” answered Basilgarrad, holding his own head high. Although he was even bigger than the highlord, it wasn’t by much; never before had he met another dragon so close to his own size. “But I come in peace, at the request of Merlin.”

“You know the wizarrrrrd, then?” The water dragon’s finlike ears, lined with blue scales, swiveled at the rim of his crown. “You must have used Merrrrrlin’s magic to elude my guarrrrrds.”

“Not exactly.” Basilgarrad’s tongue played with the gap between his front teeth. “They seemed . . . a bit tired. Especially Scarface. So I merely persuaded them to take a midday nap.”

The fires of the highlord’s eyes flared with new brightness—whether from anger or amusement, it was impossible to tell. “Tell me then, grrrrreat brrrrringerrrrr of naps, what is yourrrrr name and purrrrrpose? Then I shall decide yourrrrr fate.”

At the far side of the cavern, the hidden head of the azureeyed dragon rose a bit higher from the water. The head’s ears tilted forward, listening.

“My name is Basilgarrad. And I have come, great highlord, to ask you for help. Troubles are now spreading across Avalon! Is someone behind all this? Who? We need to know that, and soon!”

He brought his face closer to the highlord’s so their jaws almost touched. “I ask for your help, your power of Undersight—not for my sake, or Merlin’s. I ask this for Avalon.”

The great water dragon growled deep in his throat, making Basilgarrad pull back. Then Bendegeit’s nostrils flared. Two jets of glacial blue ice shot out from them and smacked into the water, forming a pair of small icebergs. The icebergs tilted on the waves, nearly capsizing, then started to float toward the nearest wall of the cavern.

“You have wasted yourrrrr time coming herrrrre,” boomed the highlord. “And much worrrrrse, you have wasted mine! I am the unrrrrrivalled masterrrrr of Waterrrrroot. Why should I carrrrre about the rrrrrest of Avalon, farrrrr beyond the borrrrrderrrrrs of my rrrrrealm?”

The green eyes of Basilgarrad flashed. “Because,” he declared, his voice resounding on the cavern walls, “what happens in one part of Avalon affects the other parts as well! If the tail of a fish is wounded, can that fish still swim and leap? If the wing of a bird is maimed, can that bird still soar and dive? This evil may not have reached you yet but if it isn’t stopped, it surely will.”

“We speak not of fish and birrrrrds! We speak of my rrrrrealm.” Bendegeit’s teeth, streaked with green algae, glinted in the light of the torches. “Now, grrrrreen visitorrrrr, you must deparrrrrt—beforrrrre I summon the rrrrrest of my guarrrrrds.”

“But highl—”

“Deparrrrrt!” The water dragon roared so loud that dozens of sea stars, clinging to the ceiling mosaic, broke loose and splashed into the water.

As the echoes faded, the two dragons glared at each other, one unwilling to leave and the other unwilling to change his mind. Again Bendegeit growled, deeper than before, as daggerlike shards of ice sprayed from his nose. Now his fiery eyes seemed ready to explode.

Meanwhile, Basilgarrad’s mind raced through his options—none of them appealing. If he fought the highlord, what would he gain? Even if he won, the water dragon could still refuse to help. And if he left, as Bendegeit commanded, what would all this have accomplished? How could he tell Merlin that he’d failed completely? His wings stirred uneasily in the water—for he sensed a battle was imminent.

The tension increased. Muscles tensed in both of the huge dragons’ necks, backs, and tails. The highlord’s sprays of ice grew stronger; Basilgarrad’s tail lifted higher, until it almost broke the surface of the water.

Seconds passed. The cavern seemed to be filling with pressure, as if it were a bubble—a bubble about to burst.

“Wait.” This new voice, higher and clearer than that of either of the two opposing dragons, rang out in the cavern.

Both Basilgarrad and Bendegeit, while keeping one eye on each other, turned toward the voice. At the far side of the cavern, another head was swiftly rising out of the water. Though its features were more delicate, the head was almost as large as the highlord’s. And it eyes, luminous azure blue, burned with a light as strong as any dragon’s. Water flowed from sparkling blue scales, until the entire head and neck had lifted into the air.