by T.A. Barron
Merlin sighed, making a somber wind that filled the dragon’s ear. “I understand, my friend. I’m just as worried! When I saw Rhia’s suit of vines restored to its old vitality, that lifted my spirits—as did her yelp of joy when I asked her to keep the crystal of élano. But those brief moments didn’t last long. My mood’s been as dark as could be. As dark as that thing you saw.”
Beneath him, the dragon shuddered. Merlin wondered aloud, “Maybe this visit with Hallia will help! And maybe the sight of your favorite forest will do the same.”
The first glimpse of Woodroot’s groves appeared, a patchwork quilt of greenery threaded with mist. As they burst out of the clouds, Basilgarrad caught the scent of lilac from the purple-hued trees of the Fairlyn Valley. Without thinking about it, he created his own smell of lilacs, magnifying the aroma from below. Yet even this experience couldn’t banish the lingering shadows from his mind.
“There!” cried Merlin. “Down on that meadow.”
Instantly, Basilgarrad veered left, knowing just what the wizard had seen. A herd of deer bounded gracefully through the grass of an open meadow. He glided steadily lower. Even before he landed at the meadow’s edge, one of the deer—a long-limbed doe with unusually large eyes—broke away from the herd and started running toward them, her hooves practically flying over the grass.
Merlin quickly climbed down from his perch, using Basil’s ear as a bendable ladder. The doe, meanwhile, bounded closer. As they watched, she began to metamorphose. Graceful forelegs shortened into arms, hind legs pulled upright, and the deer’s torso lifted vertically. At the same time, her neck and chin shortened, her ears shrank, her head sprouted an auburn braid, while her tan fur melted into a brown tunic. As the doe, now fully transformed into Hallia, strode toward them, only her wide brown eyes remained unchanged.
The wizard opened his arms to embrace her. To his own surprise, Basilgarrad watched them with uncommon interest. His heart beat faster; his long neck bent their way. Why, he couldn’t explain. Certainly, it had nothing to do with that water dragon Marnya! Whatever the reason, he watched the reunited couple hug and kiss, then amble over to a bubbling stream that coursed through the meadow.
The celebratory mood swiftly vanished as Merlin told Hallia about all their struggles. The troubles in Fireroot—with greedy dragons as well as dwarves as stubborn as Zorgat, who had broken his obsidian arrow. The violent dispute of the birds on the cloud bridge. The frightful journey to the secret lake of élano—and their victory, temporarily at least, over the blight. And Basilgarrad’s ominous discovery in the lair of the highlord of the water dragons.
“What does all this mean?” asked Hallia, her hands on her cheeks. “How do we end these troubles once and for all?”
Merlin gazed for a moment into the splashing stream, then shook his head. “I really don’t know.” He waved in the direction of Basil. “Nor does he, I’m afraid.”
But I will find the answer, promised the dragon silently.
I know you will, my friend, Merlin replied. Yet even in telepathy, he didn’t sound convinced.
Abruptly, Hallia’s back straightened. She clenched her jaw like a doe determined to protect her fawn. “Next time you go anywhere—anywhere at all—I want to go with you.”
Merlin took her hand. “No, Hallia, no. The dangers, the risks—it’s not safe. No.”
She pulled her hand away. Sternly, she said, “You take your sister, Rhia, on risky journeys, through portals and even deep underground! Why not me?”
“Well, I . . .” he began.
“Yes?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Am I any less deserving than Rhia? Am I any less important to you?”
Impressed, Basilgarrad cocked his ears forward. Smart creatures, those females.
Too smart, shot back Merlin. She has me trapped! What can I do?
Give in, advised the dragon.
No! he protested. To Hallia, he began, “But—”
“There is nothing to discuss,” she said curtly. “Either I’m just as important to you, or not.”
Merlin frowned, peering at her. “All right,” he agreed. “The next journey, so long as it’s not utterly foolhardy, I will bring you.”
You realize, said the dragon telepathically, that rules out almost all our journeys. But Merlin ignored him.
Hallia, though, seemed pleased. Taking his hand again, she said, “That’s all I want.”
“All I want,” he replied, “is that you stay safe.” He grimaced. “I couldn’t bear—”
“Shhhhh.” She placed a finger on his lips. “That won’t happen.” Then she leaned forward. “To either of us, my hawk.” She smiled at him, and it was a smile of true devotion.
Well done, great wizard. Basil bent one of his ears, imitating a bow. You knew right when to surrender.
Merlin glanced his way and gave him a wink.
She vanquished you just now.
The wizard grinned ever so slightly. She did that a long time ago.
All of them turned as a rough squawking filled the air. A ragged black bird approached, flying erratically over the meadow. It held a slender object in its claws. Merlin, Hallia, and Basilgarrad watched the bird as it crashed, exhausted, on the grass beside them.
“Zorgat’s dwarf raven!” exclaimed Merlin, leaping to his feet.
Hallia, meanwhile, cupped her hands in the cold water of the stream and brought the bird a drink. It plunged its beak into the tiny pool and drank avidly.
Basilgarrad’s nostrils flared. “And look what it brought.”
Merlin’s eyes focused on the slender object the raven had carried all the way from Fireroot. “Zorgat’s arrow!” He traded glances with Basil. “The shaft has been repaired!”
“He must be ready to discuss a treaty with the dragons,” declared Basilgarrad. He thumped the meadow with his gargantuan tail, causing the stream to splash over its banks. “There may still be hope for Fireroot.”
The dwarf raven released a loud squawk.
Merlin bent down and picked up his staff, which he’d set beside the stream. Straightening, he met Hallia’s gaze. “Are you ready for that journey?”
She nodded eagerly.
He placed his hand on her shoulder, “This could be our chance to turn the tide—in Fireroot, at least. And if we can restore the peace there, perhaps we can do it everywhere, all across Avalon!” His bushy brows drew together, forming a dark bramble above his eyes. “Any sign of danger, though, and you must leave.”
“Fair enough,” she replied.
“That’s easy to accomplish,” chimed in Basilgarrad. “At any sign of danger, I want to leave, too.”
Merlin squinted at him. “Some dragon you are,” he teased.
Basilgarrad’s tone turned serious. “Just a dragon who prefers peace to war.”
Merlin looked into the enormous green eyes of his friend. “So do we all,” he said somberly. “So do we all.”
25: TORCHLIGHT
Danger, like fire, can warm a man’s hands or cook food on his hearth—until it leaps up and destroys his house.
Basilgarrad thrust his head into the tunnel, crumpling his huge ears. He winced as they pushed against some painfully sharp amethyst crystals.
Curse that bone-brained Zorgat and his desire for secrecy! the dragon fumed to himself. Who in his right mind would hold a meeting like this underground?
From deep in his throat, he released an angry rumble. Humiliating! I bring everybody here, including that ungrateful raven—and what do I get? A seat barely big enough for my nose. His eyes narrowed. If only I could breathe fire . . . I’d light Zorgat’s beard!
Merlin, who was standing several paces away in the center of the jewel-studded cavern, with Hallia at his side, glanced over at his friend’s huge face. For a moment he studied the dragon, whose eyes and scales shone brightly in the light from all the torches that lined the walls. Even though that face was jammed inside the tunnel, it clearly showed Basilgarrad’s great intelligence, sensitivity—and frustrat
ion.
The wizard sighed. I understand, old chap. But I’m glad, all the same, you can’t destroy Zorgat’s beard. It took him his whole life to grow, you know.
I suppose you’re right, thought Basil unhappily. He shifted his head a bit, breaking off a few dozen amethyst crystals that clattered on the floor like purple hail. But it’s still tempting!
Just then Zorgat stamped his boot on the floor of the torchlit cavern. Flanked by thirty or forty dwarves, his arms folded over his bristly beard, the dwarves’ chief elder gave Merlin and Hallia a deep bow. The small raven on his shoulder fluttered its tattered black wings to keep its balance, but Zorgat didn’t seem to notice. His face, etched with wrinkles, showed only grave seriousness. When he stood straight again, he spoke first to Hallia.
“A true honor it is to meet you, esteemed woman of the deer people.” His eyes, as bright as the jewels adorning the cavern walls, sparkled. “I have heard many tales, but never met one of your clan before.”
Hallia curtseyed gracefully. “The honor is wholly mine, chief elder.” She glanced at Merlin and smiled. “But you should give the credit to my husband, for it was his idea to bring me.”
Merlin’s eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing. His thoughts were focused on the dwarf leader. Would Zorgat keep his word? What would be his terms? Would the dragons ever agree to them?
Zorgat turned to Merlin. “When you last were here, you left me with a broken arrow—as well as an idea, no less severed than this shaft.”
From his wide leather belt, lined with dark red rubies, he drew the mended arrow. Slowly, he turned it, making the obsidian blade flash in the torchlight. “Now the arrow has been mended. Let us hope it will stand the strain of being put to use.”
Somewhere in the row behind him, a dwarf grumbled angrily. Zorgat whirled around, peering at his people. His tone severe, he snarled, “For the last time, hear me! This decision stands. Dangerous as it will be to try to work with the fire dragons—it is even more dangerous to battle them constantly. That is my decision! Does any one dare object?”
None of the dwarves spoke. Some of them shook their bearded heads. Others bowed respectfully. But a few, Basilgarrad noticed with concern, fingered the double-bladed axes in their belts or the bows and arrows on their shoulders.
“Need I remind you,” Zorgat pressed, “how many of our people we lost only last week in that mine collapse—something that the broad backs of dragons could have prevented? Are we dwarves so set in our ways that we will refuse to try a new idea?”
Again, no dwarves answered.
Merlin, his expression hopeful, traded glances with the green dragon. Perhaps, Basil, all our hard work in this fiery realm might finally amount to something.
Zorgat gazed intently at the wizard. “So be it,” he declared. “If you can persuade the fire dragons to adopt this treaty, with no treachery, we will work together with them in all our mines except the sacred caverns of the flaming jewels. For their labors to secure shafts and melt down ore, we will reward them with one third of whatever treasure we mine.”
Merlin’s brow furrowed. “They will ask for two thirds, you know.”
The dwarf stroked his beard, a canny gleam in his eyes. “Then we shall protest loudly, decry their greed—and reluctantly settle at half for each of us.”
Merlin nodded. “An excellent plan.”
“And to prevent treachery,” Zorgat added, “we shall seek—”
“I have already discussed the matter with Basilgarrad,” finished the wizard, pointing the tip of his staff toward the gargantuan face jammed into the tunnel. “He has agreed to bring his personal vengeance down on any fire dragons who violate the treaty.”
Basilgarrad’s head nodded slightly, breaking off another avalanche of amethyst crystals. “Gladly,” he declared, his voice echoing inside the cavern.
“Then,” declared Zorgat, “it is agreed. By us, at least. Now we must win over the fire dragons.”
Merlin twisted his staff, grinding it into the floor. “I will help, chief elder, with all my skill.”
“That is enough for me,” Zorgat replied, his weathered old face showing at least a glimmer of hope.
Hallia, during this exchange, gazed around the cavern. Her heart swelled to see Merlin, her husband and dearest friend, making such historic progress. This could be the start of a whole new era! At least in one realm. And she, herself, was here to witness it.
She savored the scene: the dwarves all standing in line, grim yet expectant; the torches blazing, their fires reflected in the crystalline walls; Merlin and Zorgat facing each other with shared respect. Yes, yes, she thought, I’m very glad I came.
At the very edge of her vision, she saw a sudden movement. Possessing a deer’s acute sensitivity to danger, she quickly turned—and gasped. There, at the end of the row, one black-bearded dwarf had raised his bow and nocked an arrow, preparing to shoot. His target, she saw clearly, was Merlin!
Even as she gasped, the dwarf released his obsidian-tipped arrow. The bowstring twanged and the arrow flew—straight at Merlin’s chest. There was no time to warn him, no time to shout his name, no time to do anything.
Except . . .
Hallia instantly shifted into the shape of a deer. Her hooves dug into the cavern floor, scraping against the stone, as her powerful hind legs threw her into a desperate leap. A fraction of a second before the arrow struck its intended target, Hallia’s body passed before it. The arrow plunged deep into her ribs. With a cry of pain, she collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from the wound.
Pandemonium erupted. Nearby dwarves pounced on the assailant, pummeling him. The whole cavern trembled as Merlin shouted, dwarves cursed, and Basilgarrad roared in anguish. “Traitor!” bellowed Zorgat, drawing his own bow and arrow. The dwarf raven on his shoulder leaped into the air and flew in circles above the fray, screeching madly.
By the time Zorgat reached the assailant, he lay unconscious on the floor. His bow lay smashed beside him. A trickle of blood stained his beard. No one, not even the elder, noticed the black leech sucking greedily on the dwarf’s neck.
Merlin, meanwhile, sat on the hard floor, holding Hallia gently as she shifted back to her woman’s body. He uttered a frenzied chant, making the arrow in her ribs vanish completely, leaving only a thin trail of dust in the air that sparkled momentarily and then drifted away. Calling on all his power, he started to probe her wound with his inner eye, hoping to knit her torn tissues back together. All around the cavern, torches flickered, their light dimming, as if the wizard was drawing their energy as well as his own.
He cried out in agony. It wasn’t working! He couldn’t see deep enough—too much damage, too much blood. And he knew, beyond doubt, that the arrow had pierced her heart.
“No . . . my hawk,” she said hoarsely. “It’s too . . . late.”
“No, Hallia!” His whole body quaked as he drew a breath. “What good is being a wizard if I can’t help you now?”
Her doe eyes, warm and deep and brown, gazed up at him. “I’ll always . . . love you.” She caught her breath, twisting in a spasm of pain. Her eyes closed briefly, then reopened. “Someday . . . we’ll run together . . . again. Two deer . . . side by side . . . in the meadows . . . of the Otherworld.”
Face contorted, he slowly nodded. His lips parted to speak, but no words came.
As torches wavered weakly all around the cavern, Hallia fell limp in Merlin’s arms.
26: THE GREEN HEART OF AVALON
Words ought to be chosen with greater care than either clothing or weaponry. For they can last much longer than the former, and cut far deeper than the latter.
From every realm, the mourners came. Singly or in groups, by wings or feet or hooves, sobbing or silent, they gathered at the innermost meadow of the Summerlands, the place deer people called the green heart of Avalon. On this day, however, the grass, touched by autumn’s first chill, was more auburn than green.
The wind gusted briskly, blowing leaves of maple, oak,
and birch across the meadow. Basilgarrad, seated near the trees, somberly watched them bending under the weight of the wind. He wondered for a moment if his old friend Aylah, the wind sister, had come to join the mourners. No, he concluded, wherever Aylah is today, she’s not here.
He watched as people of all kinds approached Merlin. Wearing a simple black tunic, the wizard stood by the mossy bank of a spring that bubbled out of the ground, forming a green-rimmed pool. This was, he knew, one of Hallia’s favorite places, a spot where Merlin and his bride had shared many a night under the stars.
Some of the mourners, like the dreamfinder elf from the Swaying Sea who had seven fingers on each hand and walked with a limp, were unfamiliar to Basilgarrad. Others, like the tall mudmaker Aelonnia of Isenwy and the cloudlike sylph who floated across the meadow, he recognized from Merlin and Hallia’s wedding years before. And others he knew well—at least well enough to feel their sorrow. There was Rhia, who gave her brother a tearful embrace. And Nuic, whose lifeless gray color said more than any words the sprite could have spoken. There was Shim, whose thunderous steps rocked the meadow. Zorgat the dwarf came, too, looking much older and stricken with grief. And there was Gwynnia—who had been nursed back to health, as a young dragon, by Hallia herself.
Gwynnia trudged slowly across the grass, leaving a flattened trail that glistened with silvery dragon tears. Though much smaller than Basilgarrad, with her wings folded tightly against her back, she still exuded a dragon’s majesty and power as she moved. And a dragon’s sheer bulk, as well—which is why she needed to take care not to crush anyone with her tail. Following close behind her came Ganta, her son. The little dragon’s orange eyes flashed when his gaze met Basilgarrad’s. Perhaps he felt suddenly afraid, or perhaps he was still pondering his uncle’s strange words about the true meaning of bigness. That was impossible to tell.
Only one group of guests did not approach Merlin: the deer people of Hallia’s clan, the Mellwyn-bri-Meath. Like Basilgarrad, they had shared their sadness with Merlin earlier. For now they were content to stand together, like a herd of deer, watching in silence from the edge of the meadow.
