The Prophecy (5 page)

“Truly? No, I’m sorry. I have to go with Lysander.”

No one had ever offered him a job. It left Perryn with an astonishing sense of pride. Or not so astonishing—lowly the job might be, but he’d earned it with his own work.

“Thank you,” he said. “But I can’t.” He left the clerk’s office and was almost out of the public hall when a familiar voice from outside the door froze him in his tracks.

“I must see the justice. King’s business. It’s a matter of grave importance.”

Cedric!
Perryn backed up against a bench.

“He’ll likely be in the public hall, sir,” a woman replied. “And if he’s not, they’ll know where he is.”

Perryn looked around wildly. The rows of backless benches wouldn’t conceal him. The justice’s big chair at the end of the room might, but it was too far away. Weapons? There was nothing but a broom leaning against the wall. He couldn’t….

As Cedric’s tall form appeared in the doorway, Perryn snatched up the broom, turned his back on the master of arms, and began sweeping briskly. His rough tunic was even more ragged now, after days of work and sleeping in the jail. Would Cedric be able to recognize him from behind, in strange clothing?

He listened to the footsteps as the master of arms strode down the room. They never paused.

Cedric rapped on the clerk’s door and then went in.

Perryn flung down the broom and ran.

When he reached the street he spun and raced for the jail. Would Cedric reveal his business to the justice’s clerk? Probably not. Cedric didn’t like dealing with underlings. And even if he did, the clerk might not connect Perryn with the missing prince. But if Cedric hurried, and the clerk was alert…. Perryn ran faster.

“
FREEDOM
!” L
YSANDER FLUNG HIS ARMS WIDE
, gazing at the open road. “I can’t wait to shake the dust of Dunstable off my feet. Why do you keep looking back? You can’t be missing the place.”

“They were kind to us.” Perryn returned his eyes to the road ahead. “That’s all.”

“Speak for yourself. And that’s no reason to keep spinning around like a top. If you have another reason, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. I’m enjoying myself too much. South, here I come!” He strode off so fast that Perryn had to run to catch up.

“You have a task to perform for me first, remember? That’s why you’re out of jail eighty-two days early.”

“Very true. I am eighty-two days in your debt, and I’ll pay you with pleasure. What is this task you need a true bard for?”

Perryn stopped and waited till Lysander turned to face him. “I want you to slay the dragon.”

Lysander laughed.

Perryn didn’t.

Lysander stopped laughing.

“Dragon’s teeth! You’re serious. You’re crazy, but you’re serious. Good-bye, Perryn. It’s been nice knowing you.”

“Wait!” Perryn hurried after him. “You promised to help me. You swore an oath!”

“Oaths are but words, words are but wind, and wind just blows away. An oath is made of air. The black dragon is as real as real gets. I thought you needed me to serenade your sweetheart or something!”

“Please,” said Perryn urgently. “I can’t make you. But will you at least help me find a true bard who will? And a unicorn? And the Sword of Samhain?”

Lysander stopped and stared at Perryn. “I think you’d better tell me all about this. From the beginning. Take your time. Either you’re crazy, or this may be the best story I’m ever going to hear.”

NIGHT HAD FALLEN BY THE TIME PERRYN FINISHED
. He’d decided not to tell Lysander about Cedric just yet. The dragon was enough.

“Well, I’ve decided,” said the bard, feeding sticks into the fire he’d built in the center of their camp. “It is the best story I ever heard, and you
are
crazy!”

“But the prophecy—”

“Is probably cow flop, just like your father said. And your father is King Rovan? Of course he is. What are you then, prince muddy boots? Should I call you Your Highness?”

“Just Perryn, please.” He pushed up his spectacles. He couldn’t blame the bard for not believing him—Perryn couldn’t imagine anyone looking less like a prince.

“On the other hand,” Lysander went on, “crazy or not, I owe you something.”

“So?”

“So I’ll go unicorn hunting with you. It might be interesting. And after we’ve failed to catch a unicorn, we’ll go south and find a nice doctor to help you recover your wits.”

Perryn’s heart leaped. As long as Lysander agreed to help, he didn’t care what the bard believed! “If we do catch a unicorn, will you go after the sword?”

“Absolutely. Why not? And once we’ve done that, we’ll sprout our own wings and fly over the moon. But forget the dragon. By the way, how do you plan to catch this unicorn?”

“I was hoping you’d have an idea,” Perryn confessed. “Aren’t there songs and things about it?”

Lysander had a very unnerving smile.

“
WHAT ELSE
?”
PERRYN ASKED THE GRINNING BARD
. The flickering campfire lit Lysander’s face and the tips of the branches above them.

“Pearls. Or more precisely, pearl dust. That’s from
The Ballad of the Captured Queen
. You take a whole bunch of pearls, grind them up, and sprinkle—”

“Not that either.”

“Moonstones are supposed to work. You get enough moonstones to make a unicorn-size necklace, drop it over their heads, and—”

“What else?”

“That one’s in
The Lay of the Loving Maid.
It’s a good song. You see, this girl—”

“What else?” Perryn demanded.

“There’s whitethorn seed. You dry it, grind it into powder, and blow it into the unicorn’s nostrils. Of course, it doesn’t say how you’re supposed to get that close to the unicorn in the first place.”

“You blow it into his nose? You’re joking.”

“It’s from
The Ballad of the Revenge of the Maiden Cruelly Wronged.
”

“What else?”

“I’m beginning to run out of ideas. And you rejected the best one first.”

Perryn blushed. “I am not going to ask every pretty girl we meet if she’s a virgin. We’d get thrown out of every town in Idris. And people would talk about it. Ced—. It isn’t a good idea.”

“But we could—”

“No. What else?”

“Nectar of meadow lilies?”

“Meadow lilies won’t be in bloom for months. And what do you do with that? Sprinkle it on their tails?”

“Bathe their hooves with it. Then you can—”

“What else?”

“Well,” said the bard. “They’re supposed to like everfresh.”

Perryn blinked. “Everfresh are beginning to bloom now. They’re the first flower of spring. What do you do with
them
?”

“I don’t know,” said the bard. “I’m out of ideas. But there are several songs that mention everfresh; unicorns lying in a field of it, or maidens picking a bunch. That kind of thing.”

“Hmm. If we find a good place for a trap, maybe we could use it as bait. I suppose the songs talk about a thousand places where unicorns might be found, none of which is possible to reach?”

“They do, actually,” said the bard. “With one exception. Unicorns are constantly mentioned in the forest of Wyr. There’s just one problem.”

“Wait. Wyr is only about a four days’ walk from here. And I think the unicorn tracks I saw in that book were found in the forest of Wyr!”

“There’s just one problem,” the bard repeated. “Those who leave the road in the forest of Wyr never come back. It’s haunted or something.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Perryn told him.

“You’re looking for a unicorn and a magic sword, and you call the curse of the forest of Wyr ridiculous? The gods may not have walked in this world for centuries, but they left a lot of magic behind, and some of it’s still around. Cursed forests, as well as unicorns and swords.”

“But what’s the curse?”

“No one knows,” the bard admitted. “It’s just that no one who—”

“—leaves the road in the forest of Wyr has ever come back. So we’ll set our trap near the road.”

“And hope that unicorns don’t avoid the only well-traveled road in the forest?”

Perryn sighed.

IN THE DAYS IT TOOK THEM TO REACH THE FOREST
, Lysander proved to be a skillful traveler.

“It’s illegal to trap game in the spring.” Perryn eyed the rabbit sizzling on the spit hungrily.

“So arrest me, Your Highness,” said the bard blandly.

Perryn shook his head. “But there’s a reason for that law. Arnor, in
Bounties of Nature
, wrote that if people hunt in the spring they might catch a female, one with young to care for. If people kept doing that, soon there wouldn’t be anything left to hunt.”

“If people didn’t trap game all year round, they’d starve,” the bard argued. “With the dragon burning harvests, not to mention taking cattle and sheep, many people in Idris are going hungry. We’re about out of food ourselves, in case you hadn’t noticed. At the next village, I’ll find a tavern to sing in.”

“We’ll be delayed.”

“We’ll be delayed worse if we start fainting from hunger. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to set a snare. No reason for me to do all the work, and the more snares you set out, the better your chances of catching something.”

Perryn looked at him thoughtfully. He hoped snare setting would prove easier than chopping wood. “Game is getting scarcer, isn’t it, Lysander?”

“So the old-timers tell me. Everything’s scarce, in the lands where the dragon raids.”

AFTER LYSANDER FELL ASLEEP THAT NIGHT
,
PERRYN
rolled out of his blankets, pulled the mirror from his pack, and crept away from the fire’s glowing embers. He’d been able to consult the mirror only a few times during their journey, since he usually fell asleep before Lysander did. Tramping the roads all day was a big change from his quiet library tower—and in some ways, dealing with Lysander was just as exhausting. He had no desire to show the skeptical bard a magic mirror that didn’t work; that would prove he was crazy.

When he got far enough away to be certain he wouldn’t wake Lysander, Perryn wrapped his cloak around him to ward off the cool breeze and sat down, tilting the mirror toward the moonlight.

“Mirror of Idris, it’s me, Perryn. I mean, Prince Perryndon. Show me the reaction to my flight.”

He yawned, wondering why he bothered to ask that question anymore. He already knew that his father had sent Cedric to search for him. It was no wonder the mirror never troubled to answer, and he should probably quit—

Light brighter than the moon’s flared from the glass, whirled and settled almost at once into a picture of his father and Cedric, seated at the big dining table—his father’s alert expression made it obvious that for once the king hadn’t been drinking. Judging by the sunlight pouring through the windows it was sometime in the early afternoon…but what day? Since his mother’s death, the mirror had never moved its vision through time more than a few days, so this must have happened recently…or would happen soon? The mirror had been stretching its boundaries lately.

Maps and scrolls littered the table, as if his father had held a conference there. The chairs were all pushed back and hadn’t yet been straightened by the servants, so his father’s officers had probably just departed.

Cedric leaned forward. “There is one more matter we should consider, your Highness.” His voice sounded small and distant, but the words were clear.

“Hmm?” Perryn’s father scowled at the paper in his hand, some kind of list.

“It’s been almost two weeks since Prince Perryndon…left us. Isn’t it time to set a search in motion?”

Perryn frowned. People were searching for him already. Or…Perryn’s heart sank. Had his father even been looking for him? Was Cedric searching on his own, without the king’s permission? If so, it was for only one purpose. A chill ran down Perryn’s spine. If Cedric was putting his energy into tracking down and assassinating the missing prince, with any luck he wouldn’t have time to sabotage the kingdom’s defense—but Perryn couldn’t quite bring himself to be pleased about it.

“Oh, the boy. He’ll come crawling back when his coin runs out.”

Exasperation flashed across Cedric’s face, vanishing swiftly when the king looked up at him.

“Cedric, can’t we get more oats than this? We have to keep the oxen strong, as well as the horses. The army may charge on horseback, but the oxen haul the supplies that feed the men.”

“It will be attended to, Your Highness,” said Cedric. “But the prince has—”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” said the king. “I’m going to ask the King of Southfarthing for oats, and other supplies as well. If the Norsemen overwhelm us, Southfarthing’s the next….”

The image faded, as swiftly as it had appeared.

“Thank you,” said Perryn. His throat was so tight that his voice sounded hoarse. His heart felt bruised. But he wasn’t going to crawl back—not ever! If his father didn’t care enough to look for him, that only made it easier for him to succeed. He would return in triumph, and bring that treacherous arms master down as well!

LYSANDER SANG IN THE NEXT VILLAGE
.
IT MADE
Perryn nervous, but it appeared that word of the prince’s disappearance hadn’t reached this place—and as Lysander said, they needed the money. The seven coppers he made purchased only a single bed under the attic’s rafters, which Perryn shared with Lysander, and one day’s food for the two of them. Perryn would rather have camped in the fields outside of town, but it began to rain soon after they reached the village, and Lysander said the damp would be bad for his voice. Since he’d earned the money, Perryn could hardly complain about how he spent it. At least, not much.

“I thought bards were richly rewarded,” said Perryn as they hiked along the muddy road next morning.

“Maybe in your grandfather’s time. More likely in your great-great-great-grandfather’s time. Anyone who wants knowledge these days goes to a university for it, so bards aren’t well paid anymore. And it’s not like a university is going to travel from village to village to share its knowledge, but…. Never mind. Which king was your great-great-great-grandfather, anyway?”

“Reglin,” said Perryn absently. “The fortieth warrior-king. Why be a bard then, if you don’t get paid for it? For the honor?”

“I can’t trip you up, can I? Come on Perryn, who are you? Really?”

“I am who I said. And you didn’t answer my question. Are you a bard for the honor of it?”

Lysander snorted and picked up a stick to scrape the mud off his boots. “Bards get less honor than they do money. Most people think barding is just one step above begging. A short step. You go barding for the adventure,” he waved his muddy stick, “to travel, to see things and meet people.” He grinned suddenly. “The same reasons you go hunting for unicorns. And most of all, for the music.”

“And because you promised to help me.”

“Oh, that too, of course.”

THE LAST VILLAGE BEFORE THE FOREST OF WYR
was almost as large as a small town. Perryn collected coins in the tavern where the bard had chosen to play that night. He’d been accepted by so many people as Lysander’s apprentice that he was beginning to feel like it was true.

The tavern had been crowded when Lysander began to play, but now it was packed, and the crowd was getting rowdy. Was there any bawdy song Lysander didn’t know? He’d been playing for almost three hours and hadn’t repeated himself yet.

This one had a lively melody, and toes were tapping all over the room. A blacksmith, seated not far from Perryn, lurched to his feet and began to dance.

Perryn smiled. The man was drunk but no one could blame him—that lighthearted rhythm was irresistible. However, there really wasn’t room enough for dancing, and the big smith was lurching in his direction. Lysander could collect his own coins for a while. Perryn closed their jingling purse and slipped out into the night.

The cold, fresh air felt wonderful after the tavern’s stuffy heat. Perryn wandered through the inn yard and out into the street. Away from the noisy taproom the night was quiet. Everyone in the village was either at the tavern or in bed, except…Perryn heard hoofbeats coming down the road.

He drew back toward the shadows, expecting the riders to approach the inn, but they stopped by the message board in the center of the village square. As they dismounted, Perryn saw the glitter of chain mail under their cloaks. He shrank into the bushes at the side of the road. His father’s guards probably weren’t the only men in Idris who wore mail, but he couldn’t call any others to mind.

As Perryn watched, the two men unrolled a big sheet of paper and tacked it to the center of the board, indifferent to the other notices it covered.

They mounted their horses and rode through the village, stopping beside the inn, where a soft-voiced argument ensued. Perryn, crouched in the shadows, couldn’t hear what they said. Soon they lifted their reins and rode on.

They must be camped somewhere nearby, or they’d have stopped at the tavern for the night. Perryn waited till they rounded a bend in the road, then he went quietly to the message board.

Cedric had persuaded his father to begin the hunt.

His own face stared back at him from the poster. It was a good likeness—anyone who saw it would recognize him. Ten gold pieces for information about Prince Perryndon’s whereabouts, and two hundred for his safe return. His father would be furious if he had to pay out that much money. Perryn shivered. Perhaps…No, he wouldn’t go creeping home! If he didn’t prove that the prophecy was true, he’d never have any hope of earning his father’s respect.
And Cedric will kill me.

With hands that shook, Perryn reached up and pulled down the notice. He had to keep Lysander from seeing one of these. Why had he told the bard who he really was? It was too late to lie now, but as long as the bard already thought Perryn was lying he would continue with the quest. If he learned the truth…. Perryn crumpled the paper and went looking for the blacksmith’s shop. Forge fires were kept burning all night. In a few moments the poster would be ash, and tomorrow they’d be safely into the forest of Wyr.

After that…Perryn decided to deal with the future when it arrived.

LYSANDER MADE ENOUGH MONEY THAT NIGHT TO
fill both their satchels with food. He also purchased two long coils of rope.

“If we have to leave the road for a short distance,” he said, “we can tie this to a tree and be sure of getting back. Besides, it never hurts to have rope when you’re hunting.”

They had come south as well as east in the last few days and the weather had been warmer. Everfresh was blooming everywhere. Perryn made his cloak into a rough bag. It was full of flowers by the time they reached the outskirts of Wyr forest.