The Mirror of Merlin

"Young sorcery fans . . . set aside Harry Potter and pick up Merlin! ["The Mirror of Merlin" is] ingeniousIfilled with rich images [and] surprising touches of humor.U--"Cincinnati Enquirer. TRich with magic."--"The New York Times Book Review."

CHAPTER ONE SHADOWSI strained, throwing all my strength into the task, but my shadow refused to move. Again I tried. Still, the stubborn shadow would not budge. Closing my eyes-a meaningless gesture, since they couldn't see anyway, having been replaced by my second sight over three years ago-I tried my best to concentrate. To perceive nothing but my shadow. That was not easy, on a bright summer day like this, though it still seemed easier than my task. All right, then. Clearing my mind, I pushed aside the sound of rustling grasses on this alpine meadow, and of splattering streamwater nearby. No smells of springmint, or lavender, or pepperwort-almost strong enough to make me sneeze. No boulder, roughened by yellow lichens, resting beneath me; no mountains of Varigal, streaked with snow even in summer, rising above me. No wondering about whether I might encounter my old friend, the giant Shim, in these hills so near his home. And, most difficult of all, no drifting into thoughts about Hallia. Just my shadow. Starting from the bottom, I traced the shadow's outline on the grass. There were my boots, leather straps dangling, planted firmly on top of the boulder. Then my legs, hips, and chest, looking less scrawny than usual because of my billowing tunic. Protruding from one side, my leather satchel-and from the other, my sword. Next, my arms, bent with hands resting on hips. And my head, turned sideways just enough to show the tip of my nose, which, much to my consternation, had started to hook downward in recent months. Already more beak than nose, it reminded me of the hawk who had inspired my name. Then, of course, came my hair: even blacker than my shadow. And, I grumbled to myself, just as unruly. Move, I commanded silently, all the while keeping my own body motionless. No response. Lift yourself, I intoned, focusing all my thoughts on the shadow's right arm. Still no response. I released a growl. Already I had wasted the entire morning trying to coax it to move independently. So what if shadow-working was a skill reserved only for the eldest wizards-true mages? I never was much good at waiting. I drew a long, slow breath. Lift. Lift, I say. For a long moment, I stared, exasperated, at the dark form. Then . . . something started to change. Slowly, very slowly, the shadow's outline started to quiver. The edges of its shoulders grew blurry, while its arms quaked so violently they seemed to swell in size. Better. Much better. I forced myself not to move, not even to brush away the bothersome drops of perspiration rolling down my temples. Now, right arm. Lift yourself. With a sharp jerk, the shadow's arm straightened. And lifted-all the way above the head. Though I held my own body fixed, a thrill raced through me-a mixture of excitement, and discovery, and pride in my growing powers. At last, I had done it! Worked my own shadow! I could hardly wait to show Hallia. Though I felt as if I could fly off the boulder, I kept myself still. Only my widening grin betrayed my feelings. Returning my attention to the shadow, its arm still raised, I savored my success. To think that I, barely fifteen years of age, could move my shadow's- Left arm? My whole chest constricted. It should have moved the right, not the left! With a roar, I stomped my boots and waved my own arms angrily. The shadow, as if in spite, did the same back at me. "You foolish shadow! I'll teach you some obedience!" "And when will that be?" asked a resonant voice behind me. I spun around to face Hallia. Stepping as lightly as a doe, she seemed more supple than the summer grass. Yet I knew that, even in her young woman's form, she was ever alert to any possible danger-ready to run like the deer she could become in an instant. As the sunlight glinted on her auburn braid, her immense brow