The Raging Fires: Book 3 (Merlin Saga)
T. A. Barron
In this the third story in his Arthurian epic, T. A. Barron adds a thrilling new dimension to the legend of Merlin.
Wings of Fire, the sleeping dragon, has awakened, threatening to loose his terrible wrath on all of Fincayra. Only young Merlin, grandson of the great wizard Tuatha, can stop him, though the price may well be the young wizard's life.But before he can face the dragon's fires, Merlin must endure fires of other kinds—including those within himself. He must face the evil, batlike kreelixes who exist only to destroy magic; the mysterious Wheel of Wye; and the sorceress Urnalda, who holds the treasured Galator. Most challenging, young Merlin must discover not the power but the source of his own magic.
lingering odor of the swamp. Continuing north, we trekked rapidly toward the realm of the dwarves. The land rose gradually in a series of grassy plains, lifting like stairs to the high plateau where the River Unceasing bubbled out of the ground. There, I knew well, we would enter the dwarves’ terrain. Valdearg’s terrain. If only I could find Urnalda before the wrathful dragon found me! Maybe I really could help her some how. And maybe … she could also help me. In midafternoon, we paused to
departed weasel, my own gaze met Domnu’s. “We do not want your food.” “Really?” She stroked her scalp. “Perhaps you would prefer venison?” I scowled. “I would prefer hag.” The blue light at the edges of the room flared, but Domnu watched us impassively. “Surprising, my pets, that you aren’t hungry. After all, you have been here for quite some time.” “Some time?” I glared at her. “How long have we been here?” Domnu started circling again, her feet slapping on the stones. “Oh, how adorable
of difficulties.” Hallia managed a spare smile. “That he does.” I struck my own thigh. “I should start for the cliffs right now! Storm or no storm! Whatever hours I spend huddled here are wasted.” Hallia started to speak, but a sudden clap of thunder cut her off. Finally, she asked, “You would risk climbing a sheer rock wall, slick with rain, in the dead of night? With spirits of evil near at hand? You are more foolhardy than brave.” I started to rise. “But I must…” “She is right, Merlin.”
Thunder pounded, drowning only briefly the raucous laughter from the cave. Hail! Battering us, biting our hides. My shoulders ached from cold; my ears heard only that hideous sound. Just ahead of me, Hallia suddenly swerved at the edge of a deep crevasse. Like an unhealed gash it cut across the slope, blocking our ascent. Standing on its lip, she glanced back at me, eyes wide with fright. I knew instantly that she hadn’t expected to find the crevasse—and didn’t know where to cross it. Side by
Only the psaltery itself, and whatever skills you may have brought to its making, will determine whether you pass this test.” My hand, holding the tiny frame, began to perspire. “What will the psaltery do if I fail?” “Nothing. It will make no music. And bring no magic.” “And if I succeed?” “Your instrument,” he said while stroking his chin, “should start to play on its own. Music both strange and powerful. At least that’s what has happened in the past. So just as you have felt magic flowing