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wind, burned uncontrollably. They now shrieked with piercing, atonal screams that scraped like claws against the soul.
    The green dragon winced. He knew that this fire would spread across the forest until it destroyed most, if not all, of Woodroot. His home realm. But how could he stop it? After all, he didn’t possess any magic that could stop a fire. He couldn’t exhale a fountain of water to douse the flames, nor use his ability to cast smells to help. And even if he did have some useful magic, he didn’t have much time.
    What to do? he agonized. For the very first time since this battle began, he felt torn by indecision. If he hesitated to join the battle, Urnalda—and many other loyal defenders of Avalon—would surely die. And if he didn’t somehow stop those flames . . . his treasured forest, his longtime home, would perish.
    If only he had more help! It always seemed to come down to him, and him alone, to save the day for Avalon. Even Merlin, the most powerful person ever to call this world home, whose magical seed gave birth to the Great Tree itself, had abandoned Basilgarrad, leaving him to defend Avalon alone.
    Why did Merlin leave? To help a young king, he had claimed, on the faraway world called Earth. But the dragon— Basil, as the wizard called him—always suspected other reasons. Personal ones. Selfish ones. In simple truth, the wizard had departed to nurse his grief over the death of his beloved wife, Hallia—and the painful estrangement of his son, Krystallus.
    Not reason enough , grumbled the dragon. He snorted angrily. And where, for that matter, were Avalon’s other great warriors when he needed them? None of the surviving giants had come to this battle, though they’d fought bravely in the past. Not even his old friend Shim had come to help. Some said that the giant had gone into hiding ever since the terrible combat of the Withered Spring, but no one knew why. What could be his reasons? Selfish ones, most likely.
    Even Rhia, such a powerful force for peace in years past, had abandoned him. Just as she had abandoned Avalon in its time of need!
    Basilgarrad slashed his tail through the air and bellowed with frustration. Were none of his friends truly that? Were none of them more reliable than Aylah, the wind sister who blew through many places but never stayed anywhere for long—not even for a friend?
    “Once again,” he grumbled, “it’s all up to me.” He ground his spear-sharp teeth, squeezing his jaws so tight that no gap remained—except the one space where he’d lost a tooth long ago. “But what should I do?”
    His enormous eyes, sparkling with the magic of élano, flicked back and forth. Save the forest? Or his allies? He had precious little time left to do much for either. Whatever he chose, it must be now .
    The idea came in a flash. Without pausing to take another look at the battlefield, or even to think the idea through, he slapped his wings against the air. Swiftly, he flew toward the blazing forest.
    Veering in the air above the conflagration, Basilgarrad spread his great wings to their widest. Like a titanic hand from the sky, he fell straight on top of the fire, smothering the burning trees. A loud whhhooooomph! filled the air, replacing the incessant crackle of flames and explosions of sap.
    He sat still for several seconds, grinding the smoldering trees under his broad wings. Smoke curled up from the edges, but this was the final, ashen smoke of a fire extinguished. At the edge of one wing, he spied a lone spurt of flame in a lilac bush beyond his reach. One quick whip of his tail, crushing the fire under its massive weight, took care of that.
    Raising his head, he scanned the skies. No stray columns of smoke remained—and no sign of Lo Valdearg. I will find you, cowardly scum! And when I do . . .
    He didn’t finish the thought. For his mind had already turned to the murderous flamelon warriors and what awaited them. Rubbing his wings into the charred forest beneath