The Raging Fires Read Online Free PDF

the magic, to come. What, I wondered, would the power of the psaltery bring next? I smiled, knowing that the time to play my instrument had finally arrived.
    I plucked the strings.

3: T HE D ARKEST D AY
    At the instant my fingers plucked the chord, I felt a sudden blast of heat—strong enough to scorch my hand. I shouted, jerking back my arm, even as the psaltery’s strings burst apart with a shattering twang. The instrument flew out of my grasp, erupting into flames.
    All of us watched, dumbfounded, as the psaltery hung suspended in the air above us, fire licking its rim and soundboard. The oaken bridge, like the strings themselves, writhed and twisted as if in agony. At the same time, the shapes swirling around the rowan vanished in a flash—except for the multitude of leaves, which rained down on our heads.
    Then, in the very center of the flaming psaltery, a shadowy image started to form. With the others, I gasped. For soon the image hardened into a haggard, scowling face. It was a face of wrath, a face of vengeance.
    It was a face that I knew well.
    There were the thick jowls, the unruly hair, and the piercing eyes I could not forget. The bulbous nose. The earrings made of dangling shells.
    “Urnalda.” The name itself seemed to crackle with fire as I spoke it aloud.
    “Who?” asked my mother, gaping at the flaming visage.
    “Tell us,” insisted Cairpré. “Who is it?”
    My voice as dry as the fallen leaves at our feet, I repeated the name. “Urnalda. Enchantress—and ruler—of the dwarves.” I fingered the gnarled top of my staff, remembering how she had helped me once long ago. I remembered the pain of it. And how she had extracted from me a promise, a promise that I suspected would cause me greater pain by far. “She is an ally, maybe even a friend—but one to be feared.”
    At that, the blazing rim of my psaltery exploded in sparks, writhing even more. Shards of wood broke loose and sailed into the air, sizzling and sputtering. One ignited a cluster of dry berries on the overhanging branch, which burst into flames before shriveling into a fist of charcoal. Another flaming shard spun toward Rhia, barely missing her leaf-draped shoulder.
    Urnalda, her face ringed with fire, scowled down on us. “Merlin,” she rasped at last. “It be time.”
    “Time?” I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. “Time for what?”
    Tongues of flame shot toward me. “Time for you to honor your promise! Your debt be great to my people, greater than you know. For we helped you even though it be against our laws.” She shook her wide head, clinking her earrings of fan-shaped shells. “Now it be our time of need. Evil strikes the land of Urnalda, the land of the dwarves! You must come now.” Her voice lowered to a rumble. “And you must come alone.”
    My mother clasped my arm. “He can’t. He won’t.”
    “Silence, woman!” The psaltery twisted so violently that it snapped in two, releasing a fountain of sparks. Yet both halves remained in the air, hovering just above our heads. “The boy knows that I would not call on him unless it be his time. He be the only one who can save my people.”
    I shook free of my mother’s grasp. “The only one? Why?”
    Urnalda’s scowl deepened. “That I will tell you when you be here at my side. But hurry! Time be short, very short.” The enchantress paused, weighing her words. “This much, though, I will tell you. My people be attacked, this very day, as never before.”
    “By who?”
    “By one long forgotten—until now.” More flames leaped from the rim. The burning wood cracked and sizzled, almost burying her words. “The dragon Valdearg sleeps no more! His fire be kindled, as well as his wrath. Truly I speak, oh yes! Fincayra’s darkest day be upon us.”
    Even as I shuddered, the flames suddenly vanished. The charred remains of my instrument twirled in the air for another instant, then fell to the grass and leaves in twisted trails of smoke. All of us stepped