The Mirror of Fate Read Free Page A

measured not in minutes but in magic, we cavorted.
    When, at last, we stopped, our tan coats shone with sweat. We trotted to the stream, browsed for a while on the shoots by the bank, then stepped lightly into the shallows. As we walked upstream, our backs lifted higher, our heads taller. Soon we were no longer wading with our hooves, but with our feet—mine booted, Hallia’s bare.
    In silence, we clambered up the muddy bank and stepped through the rushes. When we reached the boulder, scene of my unsuccessful shadow-working, Hallia faced me, her doe’s eyes still alight. “I have something to tell you, young hawk. Something important.”
    I watched her, my heart pounding like a great hoof within my chest.
    She started to speak, then caught herself. “It’s—oh, it’s so hard to put into words.”
    “I understand, believe me.” Gently, I ran my finger down her arm. “Later perhaps.”
    Hesitantly, she tried again. “No, now. I’ve been wanting to say this for a while. And the feeling has grown stronger with every day we’ve spent in the Summer Lands.”
    “Yes?” I paused, trying to swallow. “What is it?”
    She edged a bit closer. “I want you to, to . . . know something, young hawk.”
    “Know what?”
    “That I . . . no, that you—”
    Suddenly a heavy object rammed into me, knocking me over backward. I rolled across the grass, stopping only at the edge of the stream. After untangling myself from my tunic, which had somehow wrapped itself around my head and shoulders, I leaped to my feet with a spray of mud. Grimacing, I grasped the hilt of my sword and faced my attacker.
    But instead of lunging forward, I groaned. “Not you. Not now.”
    A young dragon, her purple and scarlet scales aglow, sat beside us. She was tucking her leathery wings, still quivering from flight, against her back. Her immense, gangly form obscured the boulder, as well as a fair portion of the meadow, which is why she had sent me sprawling when she landed. Only Hallia’s quick instincts had spared her the same fate.
    The dragon drew a deep, ponderous breath. Her head, nearly as large as my entire body, hung remorsefully from her huge shoulders. Even her wings drooped sadly, as did one of her blue, bannerlike ears. The other ear, as always, stuck straight out from the side of her head—looking less like an ear than a misplaced horn.
    Hallia, seeing my angry expression, moved protectively to the dragon’s side. She placed her hand on the end of the protruding ear. “Gwynnia’s sorry, can’t you see? She didn’t mean any harm.”
    The dragon scrunched her nose and gave a deep, throaty whimper.
    Hallia peered into her orange, triangular eyes. “She’s only just learned to fly. Her landings are still a little clumsy.”
    “Little clumsy!” I fumed. “She might have killed me!”
    I paced over to my staff, lying on the grass, and brandished it before the dragon’s face. “You’re as bad as a drunken giant. No, worse! At least he’d pass out eventually. You just keep getting bigger and clumsier by the day.”
    Gwynnia’s eyes, glowing like lava, narrowed slightly. From deep within her chest, a rumble gathered, swelling steadily. The dragon suddenly stiffened and cocked her head, as if puzzled by the sound. Then, as the rumble faded away, she opened her gargantuan, teeth-studded jaws in a prolonged yawn.
    “Be glad she hasn’t learned yet how to breathe fire,” cautioned Hallia. Quickly, she added, “Though I’m sure she’d never use it on a friend.” She scratched the edge of the rebellious ear. “Would you, Gwynnia?”
    The dragon gave a loud snort. Then, from the other end of the meadow, the barbed end of her tail lifted, curled, and moved swiftly closer. With the grace of a butterfly, the remotest tip of the tail alighted on Hallia’s shoulder. There it rested, purple scales upon purple cloth, squeezing her gently.
    Brushing some of the mud from my tunic, I gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s hard to stay