Free The Mirror of Fate by T. A. Barron Page B

the great bird flew toward the lowering sun—and the vast reaches of the Haunted Marsh. In what seemed like only a few seconds, and at the same time, an eternity, it entered the twisting columns of vapors. Then, with another shriek, it released its prize. My sword flashed bright once again, then plummeted downward, vanishing in the mist.

9: L OST
    Aghast, I watched the dark vapors swallow my blade—and the bird who had stolen it. “Gone,” I said in disbelief. “Gone! I must get it back.”
    “Wait.” Hallia’s round eyes peered at the distant swamp, whose contorted clouds lined the horizon. The sun, riding low in the sky, painted the entire vista gold, with a growing hint of scarlet. “It’s all so strange. Why would a bird do such a thing? Unless, perhaps, it was . . .” She shook her head, as if hoping to banish an unwanted thought.
    “What?” I pressed.
    “A way to lure you into the marsh.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “A trap?”
    “For you, young hawk.”
    “Not likely. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I still need my sword.”
    “There are other swords. You can let the marsh ghouls have that one.”
    “No, I can’t. That sword is part of me. Part of my . . .
    “Destiny?” She scowled at me. “It’s time you chose your own path, don’t you think?”
    “Yes,” I agreed, my voice firm. “And now I am sure. This is my path.”
    Wincing, she closed her eyes for a moment. “So you’re going down there?”
    “And wherever else I must. Hallia, what if the sword is somehow tied up with the rest of this evil business? I have to do something, whatever I can.” I studied her auburn hair, aglow in the light. “You should go back to your people. And Gwynnia. I’ll rejoin you after the marsh.”
    As I spoke the final phrase, I felt the ballymag shudder against my ribs. His claws started clacking anxiously within the sling. Taking Hallia’s hand, I added quietly, “I’ll still be with you, you know. In one way, at least.”
    Her hand trembling in my own, she declared, “No, that’s not enough.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m coming with you.”
    “No, you shouldn’t—”
    “But I will.” Her eyes darted skyward. “I only wish Gwynnia were here to come, too.”
    “Notame!” shrieked the ballymag, thrusting his seal-like face out of the folds of cloth. “Thinkyou I sufferfled such terrorwoe, such crampymess, just backgo to certainous dangerscream?”
    He thrust a pair of hefty claws at me, snapping them under my nose. “You horribulous manmonster! You’ll squealbring my endafinish—and mepoorme, just a barebaby.”
    “Sorry,” I said, pushing away the claws. “I didn’t want to, didn’t know . . .”
    “Excusemanure!” Tears gathered in the ballymag’s eyes. “I mustshall be bravelystrong. Mustshall. I foundcrawled my ownaway to watersweet before, and hopefulously againwill. Ifsad . . . ifsad I’m not swallowgulped by dragonbeasts or manmonsters firstous.”
    Hallia reached her hand toward him. Lightly, she brushed one of his trembling whiskers. “We didn’t mean to bring you back here. Just to help you.”
    The ballymag tried to growl, though it sounded more like a whimper. “Helpsave some otherbody nextatime.” He drew a shaky breath. “Now I mustshould sufferflee. Butafirst,” he added with a glance at my empty scabbard, “heedknow my warnsay: Unless you lusciouslove painodeath, staykeep away from terribulous marshplace.”
    I gazed at the swirling vapors of the swamp. “Can you tell us something, anything, about what’s happening down there?”
    “Please?” coaxed Hallia. “Anything at all?”
    The ballymag, who was starting to climb out of the sling, shuddered. “The marshaghouls . . . they’ve started killattacking. Bodyevery, verilously bodyevery!” He looked anxiously toward the bog lands. “I knowanot reasonwhy. But their dreadfulous—”
    A clamorous roar from up the slope cut him off. We turned to see one of the giants, standing taller than the