The Mirror of Fate (25 page)

“Gwynnia!” Wrapping my arm around her immense nose, I pressed my face against her own. Then I pointed toward the warrior goblins, many of whom had also been knocked off their feet. “Now get Hallia! Over there.”

With a thunderous snarl, she whirled about. Her tail snapped like a whip before smashing into the warrior goblin nearest to Hallia’s motionless form. The goblin sailed straight at the Mirror. All at once, its surface flattened, gleaming darkly. Like a bottomless hole in the terrain of time, it swallowed the goblin completely. Even before the sound of shattering died away, the surface contorted again, churning with clouds as before.

The dragon’s gangly neck, meanwhile, stretched over to Hallia. Whimpering, Gwynnia nudged her friend’s body with the tip of her nose, while her leathery wings fluttered anxiously against her back. But Hallia did not move, or make any sound.

I stumbled out of the pool. Retrieving my staff, I glanced back at Nimue. She was yanking at clumps of mud and sticks that had stuck to her hair, and pulling out her own hair in the bargain. Seeing me, she shrieked in rage and swung her arm wildly. A blazing ball, searing the air like molten lava, appeared in her hand. With the cry, “Death by fire, you upstart wizard!” she reared back and hurled it at me.

The scars on my cheeks stung from the heat as the fireball whizzed toward me. I had only enough time to raise my staff, sending into it whatever power I could muster in the hope that it might shield me. At the moment of impact, jagged fingers of lightning erupted from the staff’s head. They collided with the flaming ball, deflecting it into a nearby mound of peat. A roaring wall of fire flew upward, consuming all the reeds, moss, and broken roots on the spot.

Gwynnia, sensing no movement from Hallia, bellowed in anguish. Her tongue, as slender as one of her claws and dark purple in color, gently lapped the face of her friend. Hallia’s arm seemed to stir, then fell back. Whether it had lifted on its own accord, I couldn’t tell.

“Warriors!” shouted Nimue. She strode from the pool, still pulling at her tangled hair. “Kill them all. Now, I say!”

Roaring angrily, the goblins descended on us. Wielding heavy spears, swords, and axes, several of them charged at Gwynnia. Two more threw themselves at me. It was all I could do to stay out of reach of their deadly blades, while trying to edge closer to Hallia. On one side, I saw Gwynnia’s tail lashing the air, trying to protect our fallen companion from the attackers. On the other side, Nimue prepared to throw another blazing fireball at me.

Swords slashed just over my head; spears plunged into the muck by my boots. Now I was backed against the scorched pillar of the archway. For a split second I considered diving into the mists and saving myself—yet I couldn’t leave Hallia behind. As Nimue’s laughter rose above the din, a huge warrior goblin wearing a red armband above his elbow confronted me. He gave a harsh, wheezing grunt and swung both of his battle-axes at my head.

Instead of ducking, I did the one thing he least expected: I braced my foot against the pillar and sprung at him. My chest rammed into his shoulder, breaking off an armor plate. One of his axes struck the pillar. Sparks flew into the air. His second ax buried itself in another warrior’s back. Meanwhile, I rolled helplessly through the marsh grass.

Finally, I came to a stop. Though my head was spinning, I realized that I was almost underneath the dragon’s tail. The shadow of its barbed tip passed over me as she swung at one of our assailants. I didn’t watch more of her battling, however, for my attention turned to the limp form nearby. I crawled to Hallia’s side and lifted her head toward my own.

“Hallia . . .”

Feebly, she opened her eyes. My heart leaped to see those deep pools of brown, and the fire within them, once again. But the fire burned weakly, faltering. A few seconds later, her eyes closed once again. I poured all the strength I could summon down my arms, through my hands, and into her. Flow, my power! Bring her back to me!

I waited for her to stir, to draw even one halting breath, but nothing happened. Desperately, I shook her by the shoulders. Still nothing. She lay there, as still as my own frozen heart.

Suddenly she quivered, gasping for air. Her eyes reopened. “Young hawk,” she said hoarsely. “You’re back.”

Even as I started to reply, Nimue’s voice shook the swamp. “Die, all of you!”

Hallia, seeing the sorceress take aim with her blazing fireball, clutched my arm. At the same time, I caught sight of a dreadful look on Gwynnia’s face: a look of fear. Surrounded by warrior goblins, she was no longer able to hold them at bay. They pressed closer by the second. Their weapons hammered against the scales of her back, slashed at her eyes, and probed at her heaving belly. In a few more seconds, she would surely fall.

Nimue’s arm uncoiled. The fireball, glowing bright, flew out of her hand. Spitting flames, it bore down on us. Closer and closer it came. Having no staff this time to ward off the blow, I tried to shield Hallia’s body with my own.

At that instant, something shot out of the vapors. It sliced through the air, leaving a thin trail of darkness. When it collided with the ball of flames, right before our faces, there was a sudden
woomppf—
and the fireball vanished.

Nimue, her mouth agape, glared at the spot. Her warrior goblins, too, sensed something was wrong. Though they still brandished their weapons, they faltered, looking worriedly at one another. Two of them stepped back, moving away from the dragon. At that moment, dozens of figures emerged from the surrounding swamp, encircling us with their shadowy forms.

Marsh ghouls! Most of them could be seen only as vague, shimmering shapes, or as flickering eyes that floated in the vapors. Yet they couldn’t be missed. Many of them held hefty bows nocked with coal-black arrows. Arrows that could pierce through the day.

The immense goblin with the red armbands growled fiercely. He stepped toward the nearest marsh ghouls, swinging a battle-ax over his head. Instantly three arrows, trailing ribbons of darkness, plunged through his chest. He fell face first into the muck, and did not move again.

Quaking with rage, Nimue strode toward the line of marksmen. On silent command, a large number of them shifted, aiming their arrows straight at her. She went rigid, glowering at them. Fighting to contain her wrath, she adjusted her silver-threaded shawl about her shoulders. At last, she said in a strained voice, “Now, now, my old friends. You wouldn’t think of bringing harm to me, would you?”

In answer, the marsh ghouls drew back their bowstrings. Nimue’s face, already pale, went whiter still. After a tense moment, she addressed them again, abandoning any pretense of alliance.

“You really think I am so easily defeated?” she ranted, clenching both of her fists. “You will pay for this treachery, ah yes, with many lifetimes’ worth of pain! Just wait until my powers are fully restored to me! Those chains you wore before will seem a delight compared to what torments I shall heap on you.”

A few of the marsh ghouls seemed to waver; two or three of them lowered their bows. But the rest remained in place, their arrows nocked, facing the sorceress squarely. What no one had noticed, though, was that during her diatribe, she had slowly raised her hand, pointing it at the spot where Hallia and I sat on the ground. All of a sudden I noticed a reddish glow appearing at the tip of her outstretched finger.

“Beware!” I shouted. “She’s going to attack us!”

“Too late, you nursling wizard,” she spat back without turning from the line of marsh ghouls. “Now, my former allies, we shall test your loyalties. Shall we,
hmmm?
Hear my terms, for I shall offer them only once: Drop your weapons now, and I shall harm you no further. You have my word on that. My only prize will be the lives of these two assassins who have done me so much harm.”

She paused, allowing her words to register. “Or, in your stubbornness, you can choose to attack me. But if you do, I warn you, I shall have just enough time before your arrows strike to send a blast of fire at your wizard friend and his maiden.” Her fingertip seemed to smolder, sizzling in the air. “Perhaps I will not be so fortunate as to kill them both. But at least one of them, I can promise, will surely die.”

As Hallia and I sat motionless, a low murmur arose from the assembled marsh ghouls. I cast around in my mind for anything, anything at all, I could do. But any attempt to move, let alone to attack, would certainly cause Nimue to release her pent-up flames, incinerating Hallia and myself. I could tell that Gwynnia, too, had arrived at the same terrible conclusion. Although her eyes brimmed with torment, she remained utterly still, even holding her wings tight against her back.

At length, the marsh ghouls again fell silent. Their luminous eyes glinted through the threads of mist that wove about their shifting forms. Though I was sure that the sorceress, like myself, had expected that they would choose to retreat and save themselves, they did not budge. Clearly, they had decided to test her resolve—and to try to save my life and Hallia’s in the process.

Nimue’s face twisted. Her finger sizzled all the more, sending upward a thin trail of smoke. My hand squeezed Hallia’s as my mind raced to find some way to escape.

A slight quiver of motion by my side caught my attention. My shadow! In that instant, I sent it a silent command: If you never heed me again, you must do so now! Go now—stop her if you can.

The shadow seemed to hesitate, shrinking itself down to a fraction of its size. Then, like a pouncing wolf, it leaped away from me and hurled itself at the sorceress, slamming straight into her abdomen.

Nimue shrieked, lurching backward. The searing blast of flames shot from her finger, expending itself harmlessly on the swamp vapors above her head. Before she could gather herself, I lunged at her myself, plowing into her with all my strength. She flew backward, ramming into one of the stone pillars. Fingers of mist broke out of the Mirror’s surface, groping at her. She swatted at them, stumbling sideways. The surface suddenly snapped into a rigid, black sheet. For a brief instant, waving her arms to keep her balance, she stared at her own dark reflection, and at something else beyond.

“No!” she cried, even as she fell into the Mirror. She vanished into its depths, her final shriek fading into the sound of shattering, which in turn faded into silence.

As her sweet aroma diminished, no one moved for a long moment. Then, all at once, a resounding cheer went up—first from Hallia and myself, then from Gwynnia (who also battered the ground with her tail, spraying mud in all directions), and finally from the marsh ghouls, whose voices rose in eerie, heaving moans.

When the cries at last died away, the remaining warrior goblins dropped their weapons. Slowly, very slowly, the marsh ghouls’ circle parted. Hesitantly at first, the warrior goblins moved toward the opening. A moment later they broke into a run and scattered in the swamp, their heavy boots pounding through the mud.

The marsh ghouls stood, shimmering darkly, for another few seconds. Then, as quietly as they had arrived, they melted into the vapors, vanishing from sight. Only the empty trails of their arrows remained, scrawled upon the air by the ancient archway.

I held Hallia close. The swamp seemed strangely calm. Together, we listened to the sound of our own breathing, and Gwynnia’s, not fully believing we remained alive.

Then out of the quiet arose a new sound. It came from somewhere nearby. Although it lasted only a second or two, it seemed almost like a voice. Almost . . . like a cat giving a single, satisfied meow.

27:
T
HEIR
O
WN
S
TORY

As I sat on the ground beside Hallia, swamp vapors encircled us, much as the marsh ghouls had only moments before. Suddenly I felt a strong nudge against my back. I turned to see Gwynnia, her fiery eyes trained on us.

With a quivering hand, Hallia reached up to stroke the dragon’s enormous nose. “You did well, my friend. Though you can’t yet breathe fire, you fought like a true dragon. Yes—even your namesake, mother of all the dragon race, would have been proud.”

Gwynnia, as if embarrassed, shook her head, making the rows of tiny purple scales beneath her eyes glitter like amethyst jewels. It also made her floppy ear slap against her shoulder, splattering us with mud. Laughing, Hallia pulled a glob off her chin. Without warning, she turned and threw it at my head. It smacked me on the temple.

“That,” she declared, “is for being late.”

Before I could protest, she pulled my face to hers. Those doelike eyes studied me for an instant. Then she planted a soft kiss on my lips. “And that’s for coming back to me.”

Sputtering with surprise, I pulled away. “You . . . well, I—er . . . uh, that’s . . .”

“There,” she said with finality. “You remember that there was something I wanted to tell you? Well, now I have.”

My babbling ceased, and I grinned.

Suddenly pensive, she scanned the surrounding bog, watching the coils of rising vapors. Her fingers ran over the mud at our side, touching the scattered ashes that were the only remnant of Nimue’s fireball. “Somehow, young hawk, I knew you would come back in time to help. But the marsh ghouls? That surprised me.”

I nodded. “Surprised Nimue, too.”

“I’ve never heard of them doing anything to help another creature.” She began to comb her tangled locks with her fingers. “Certainly not a man or woman. Even my own people, famous for their forgiveness, have little to spare for marsh ghouls. All of our stories about them—every last one—ends in terror.”

Giving up on her mud-crusted hair, she stopped combing and peered at me thoughtfully. “It’s possible, I suppose, you did the right thing after all with my father’s key. Maybe it will have some effect that reaches beyond today. Maybe it will even change the marsh ghouls, at least a little.”

“Perhaps,” I replied. “It’s hard to know.”

I turned to the stone arch, pondering the Mirror within it. Beneath my shifting reflection, clouds of mist knotted, swirled, and congealed, forming numberless shapes and passageways. Slowly, as I watched, my own image disappeared, replaced by something else. It was, I realized, a face, though quite different from my own. It belonged to a man, whose flowing beard melted back into the mist: a face very old, very wise, full of sorrow and torment and centuries of longing—and, at the same time, a touch of hope. Even as I gazed at the face, it seemed, for an instant, to gaze back at me. Then, like a windblown cloud, it faded away.