Ultimate Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

what did its crate contain? His huge wings beat the air as he swept toward the mysterious structure.
    Suddenly he caught sight of a small creature at the edge of the battlefield. Though he couldn’t tell what sort of being it was, its plight was unmistakable—and dire. Trapped in the highest branches of an old, gnarled oak tree, it was being pelted by stones and spears hurled by more than twenty flamelons gathered around the trunk. From their raucous laughter and boisterous antics, it was clear that they weren’t so much attacking the little creature as bullying it. They wouldn’t stop until it fell to the ground where they could stomp and stab it to death.
    I hate bullies! he thought. Always have . Shifting direction, he pumped his wings to race to the creature’s rescue.
    As he flapped those huge wings—so big they could embrace an entire lake—he grinned, recalling that he’d once been as small as that little animal. Or even smaller. But no more! He certainly wasn’t small now. And he would never be small again!
    Nearing the tree, he raised his head in surprise. Wait! Do I know that little fellow?
    His wingbeats slowed as he peered more closely. Sure enough, it was an immature dragon, whose bony wings looked as thin as paper, and whose scarlet and purple scales were as tiny as acorns. Why, yes. That’s Ganta, the spunky young rascal!
    Basilgarrad blinked his wide eyes. He couldn’t possibly forget his own nephew, who was always eager—too eager—to fight. Or their first meeting, when Basilgarrad was still small, which had nearly turned into a battle to the death. Now here he was, in the midst of the fight for Avalon, a fight that had set both land and sky aflame.
    Just as he reached the oak tree, the green dragon spun a sharp turn. He dipped one wing so low it scraped against the ground, scooping up turf, swords, helmets, a few dead birds—and almost all the flamelons under the tree. The few who escaped capture sprinted away as fast as they could. Their companions, meanwhile, rolled into a heap in the cupped wing, unable to do more than shriek in terror.
    Basilgarrad didn’t have time to listen. Raising his wing, he flung those flamelons across the forest, all the way to the horizon and beyond. Wherever they landed, it must have been brutally painful. The dragon watched their flailing bodies vanish from sight, then nodded in satisfaction.
    He veered lower and landed thunderously, bowling over some nearby trees and sending tremors across the battlefield. Slowly, he stretched his head toward the tree, meeting the incredulous gaze of Ganta. The young dragon, no bigger than one of Basilgarrad’s scales, could only stare with his orange-hued eyes.
    “Hello, Ganta.”
    “Er . . . hello, master Basil.” Nervously, the youngster rubbed his snout with his little wing.
    Noting the slender scar on the tip of Ganta’s nose, a souvenir from their first meeting, Basilgarrad resisted a grin and spoke firmly. “This is a dangerous place to be. Where is your mother?”
    Scampering a bit farther out on his branch, the young dragon answered, “She’s back at the lair in Stoneroot with my brothers and sisters. But I”—he swallowed, causing a ripple to roll down his thin neck—“I wanted to fight. For Avalon.”
    “Really? You didn’t just want to join a big battle, whatever it was about?”
    Ganta shook his wings indignantly. “No, master Basil. Truly! I do like a fight, it’s true. But this time . . . it’s, well . . . a chance to be big .”
    His uncle’s gigantic eyebrow lifted. “Big?”
    “Don’t you remember?” piped Ganta eagerly. “That day we met in the dragongrass by the geyser? You said something I’d never heard before, something I needed time to understand. You said . . . being big isn’t about what you weigh—but about what you do .”
    Basilgarrad couldn’t suppress a grin any longer. Maybe there’s hope for this young troublemaker after all. His voice, however, remained stern.