Read Online The Mirror of Fate by T. A. Barron - Free Book Online Page A

started to back away, a third giant—whose dark beard was caked with the same mud that covered the bundle—roughly shoved his arm aside.
    “Lettez ‘em liven,” he barked. “Ussez seen enoughen dyining fer onen days.”
    His companion closed his hand into a fist. “Nobody else, mmmainly you, can tell mmmee what to do!”
    “Thatsen acuz yer so thickster yer nevers understandining nobody elzen.” He beamed as two others guffawed at his joke. “Itzen truer, harrur-harrur.”
    Growling with rage, the ridiculed giant swung his fist. While missing his target, he clipped off several high limbs from a tree. Needles and broken branches showered us. Hallia jumped and started to dash away, but caught herself.
    “Seeyen there! Yer canten evenz hitsen whats yer wantzen, hoho-hurr.”
    The other giant lunged at him. But his massive foot caught on the edge of the bundle, and he lost his balance. Bellowing angrily, he crashed on the grassy slope—so hard that both Hallia and I tumbled over backward. We righted ourselves in time to see the two belligerents start wrestling. Their huge bodies rolled over each other, arms and legs thudding the ground. The other giants moved closer to watch, shouting jeers at the two wrestlers, leaving the mudcovered bundle unattended.
    And then the bundle groaned.
    An avalanche of mud fell from the lower end, revealing a pair of huge, hairy toes. Then came another groan, and a sudden twist—spraying more putrid smelling debris on the grass. A few paces from us, a fiery pink eye opened, blinking from all the muck weighing down its lid. Above the eye loomed a gargantuan, pear-shaped nose, its cavernous nostrils stuffed with stones, sticks, and ooze.
    At the base of the encrusted giant’s head, the layers of slop started vibrating. The faster the chin—or neck, or whatever lay beneath—shook, the more clumps of swamp matter flew into the air. Hallia barely dodged a decaying branch, which struck the grass beside her, splintering into shards. Then a crack appeared in the mountain of muck. Slowly, it widened into a crevasse-like mouth.
    “ Aaaraaarr ,” moaned the buried giant. “I ith feeling sickly sick. Certainly, definitely, abtholutely.”
    “Shim!” I exclaimed, recognizing his favorite phrase—if not his voice, due to all the muck blocking his nose. Rushing to his side, I shouted into his clogged ear, “It’s me. Merlin.”
    The bulbous nose scrunched, breaking off an avalanche of debris. A good deal landed in Shim’s mouth, causing him to spit and cough violently. That in turn dislodged more swamp muck, which he in turn swallowed, making him cough all the more. The fit lasted several minutes. To avoid being struck by his pounding head and flailing arms, I retreated to the very edge of the trees.
    Hallia, back at my side, shot me an anxious glance. “You know this giant?”
    “My, yes! Since before he got—well, so big. He helped me save the Wise Tools when Stangmar’s castle collapsed.”
    “He could still crush you like a worm underfoot if you’re not careful.”
    I waved my staff at the other giants, a short way down the slope. They were still so busy shouting at the two wrestlers, and roughly shoving each other, that they hadn’t noticed Shim’s revival. “They worry me a lot more. Shim’s a friend. And he might know what’s really happening down there in the marsh.”
    Seeing Shim’s violent spasm coming to an end, I started back toward him. But Hallia’s gaze, as piercing as a spear, halted me. “Listen, young hawk. Giants are bad enough, but at least you might outrun them. The Haunted Marsh, though, is something else again. What more do you need to know, other than it’s already too near? Right down there, at the base of this hill! Let’s get away, as fast as we can.”
    “Believe me, I understand. When I was there before . . . well, I don’t want to go back unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
    Deep within the sling on my chest, I heard a muffled groan. Even