Free Doomraga's Revenge by T. A. Barron Page A

sleeping giant merely shifted his enormous bulk, barely missing the roof of one farmhouse with his hairy big toe. The stone pillars, which had fallen onto Shim’s open hand, didn’t fare so well. Between grunting snores, he tossed them aside as if they were nothing more than a few pebbles. Then, settling back into peaceful slumber, the giant mumbled, “Take that, you villainly villain! Certainly, definitely, abs . . .”
    Merlin, watching the sleeping giant, shook his head in dismay. Nuic, already a wrathful purple because of the discarded pillars, did the same. Only Basilgarrad found himself grinning, for he couldn’t forget his first encounter with Shim. On that day, the huge fellow had also been sound asleep, and in danger of crushing Merlin’s son, Krystallus, then just a toddler. Only the piercingly sweet smell of honey, sent by Basil to the giant’s nose, caused him to wake up in time.
    From behind the rubble left by the collapsed pillars, two people strode toward them. One, a tall priest missing an ear, Basilgarrad recognized as Lleu, a longtime friend of Merlin and Rhia. The other, he was delighted to see, was Rhia herself. She seemed as healthy and vibrant as ever, radiating her usual feistiness, even though the vines of her garb were peppered with sickly brown leaves, such as the one Nuic had brought. Her feet—bare, as she preferred—sprang lightly from the ground; her curls bounced with every step.
    Merlin rushed to embrace her. “You’re well!” he exclaimed, sighing with relief.
    “I am,” she declared grimly. “But Woodroot is not!”
    Woodroot . Basilgarrad’s favorite realm, whose lush, scented forests he called home. What was wrong there? What had happened?
    Rhia stooped to pick up Nuic, and gave his arm a grateful squeeze. “Come now, I’ll show you. Words can’t explain—you must see for yourselves.”
    Merlin turned to the enormous dragon, who lay sprawled behind him, narrowly fitting between the stone circle and the sleeping giant. “Basil, will you take us?”
    “Anywhere,” he replied.
    “Aim for the headwaters of the River Relentless,” Rhia instructed him. “Then go north.”
    “Must we ride on that oversized lizard again?” grumbled Nuic. But no one seemed to notice—certainly not the dragon, who had already lowered one of his long ears to the ground so his passengers could climb aboard.
    Slithering forward so he could open his wings without knocking down any more pillars, Basilgarrad found enough space to take flight. He leaped into the air, banked a turn to avoid clipping Shim’s foot, and beat his wings. Westward he flew—toward Woodroot.
    Moments later, the dark green border of Avalon’s forest realm came into view. Even before he could see much of the wooded hills beyond, Basilgarrad caught some of the forest’s familiar scents: spruce resins, both sweet and tart; lilac blossoms, rich with ethereal perfume; bark and wood, wet from rain, melting into soil; acorns, each one holding the essence of an oak tree; and mushrooms, mysteriously savory.
    As they crossed into the realm, mound upon mound of greenery rose into blue ridges that wore shadows like thick blankets over their dells and ravines. Spirited streams ran through every fold, splattering and spraying with endless ebullience. Plumes of mist rose from the glades, as did the lilting notes of songbirds. More smells wafted toward them—deer prints in a marsh, ripening plums, peeling birch bark, moistened tufts of moss. Then, from directly beneath them, a flock of lemon faeries lifted into the air, their tiny yellow wings glittering like stars.
    “Further north,” said Rhia, sitting cross-legged on the dragon’s head. Wind rushed through her hair, straightening all but her most tightly wound curls. She glanced to her right, where Merlin stood beside a tall ear. “To the deepest forest.”
    Lleu, standing by the dragon’s other ear, raised his voice to be heard above the wind. “What was the deepest