The Mirror of Fate Read Free Page B

angry at either of you for long.” I gazed into one of the dragon’s bright eyes. “Forgive me, will you? I forgot—just for a moment—that you’re never far from Hallia’s side.”
    The young woman turned toward me. “For just a moment,” she said softly, “I, too, forgot.”
    I nodded sadly. “It’s no fault of yours.”
    “Oh, but it is.” She stroked the golden scales of the barbed tail. “When I started singing to her in the evenings, all those songs I learned as a child, I had no idea she would grow so attached.”
    “Or so large.”
    Hallia nearly smiled. “I suppose we should never have let Cairpré give her such a weighty name, out of ancient dragon-lore, unless we expected her to live up to it someday.”
    “That’s right—the name of the first queen of the dragons, mother of all their race.” I chewed my lip, recalling the old legend. “The one who risked her own life to swallow the fire from a great lava mountain, so that she, and all her descendants, might also breathe flames.”
    At that, Gwynnia opened wide her jaws and gave another yawn, this time so loud that we both had to cover our ears. When at last the yawn ended, I observed, “Seems like the queen may need a nap.” In a hopeful whisper, I added, “We may get to finish our conversation yet.”
    Hallia nodded, even as she shifted uneasily. But before she could say anything, a new sound sliced through the air. It was a high, mournful keening—the kind of sound that could only come from someone in the throes of death. Or, more accurately, someone for whom death itself would be a reprieve.

2: T HE B ALLYMAG
    The anguished cries, from somewhere near the stream, continued. Grabbing my staff, I dashed across the grass, followed by Hallia. The young dragon merely watched us sleepily, nuzzling her wing with her enormous nose. Even before I reached the bank, I realized that the wailing—so loud that it drowned out the tumble and splatter of water on the stones—was coming from a bend upstream. Hallia and I rushed to the spot, pushing aside some yellow gorse that grew by the water’s edge.
    There, struggling to pull itself onto the muddy bank, was the oddest-looking creature I had ever seen. His body was dark, rounded, and sleek, much like the seals of Fincayra’s western coast, though smaller in size. Too, he possessed a seal’s long whiskers and deep, sorrowful eyes. But instead of fins, this creature had arms, three on each side. Thin and bony, the arms each ended with a pair of opposing claws resembling a crab’s. From his well-padded belly hung a net of greenish webbing—a pouch, perhaps—while his back held a row of long, delicate tails, each one coiled tightly into a spiral.
    Then I noticed the jagged cut, caked with mud, that ran down his right flank. As the creature flopped against the bank, moaning piteously, I knelt beside him. Quickly, splashing him with stream water, I tried to clean the wound. At first the poor beast, thoroughly consumed by his own suffering, didn’t seem to notice me. After a moment, though, he gave a sudden, violent shudder.
    “Oh, terribulous painodeath! Horribulous bloodyhurt!” he bellowed. “My endafinish, so soon, so soon . . . And I so littleyoung, almost a barebaby.”
    “Don’t worry,” I answered soothingly, hopeful that my own dialect sounded less strange to him than his did to me. “I’m sure that cut hurts, but it’s really not too deep.” I reached into my satchel and pulled out a handful of healing herbs. “These herbs—”
    “Are for killocooking little mepoorme, of course! Such a dreadfulous, woefulous endafinish.” His whole body trembled, especially the thick rolls of fat under his chin. “How I soverymuch sufferfled—only to be cookpotted by a cruelous manmonster.”
    I shook my head. “You don’t understand. Try to relax.” Dripping some water on the herbs, I patted them into a poultice. “This will help you heal faster, that’s all.”
    The creature shrieked