The Prophecy (6 page)

“I passed through here once.” The bard peered uneasily into the green-roofed tunnel. “I didn’t leave the road. No reason to. I’d forgotten how uncanny it is.”

Perryn shrugged off his own uneasiness. “It’s just trees. Watch for tracks like the one I drew for you. That will probably be our first sign.”

He hoped he’d remembered them accurately. A good memory was one of the marks of a scholar.

Birds sang in the branches above them and small creatures moved in the undergrowth.

“How can it be so noisy and feel so still?” Perryn murmured.

“Maybe because there’s no wind.” The bard didn’t sound convinced.

They camped that night right in the middle of the road. Perryn made one half-hearted objection about blocking the path and then conceded. Lysander looked longingly back the way they had come.

ON THE SECOND DAY
,
THE ROAD CROSSED A BRIDGE
over a stream and Perryn saw the first unicorn tracks. His shout of triumph echoed in the quiet wood. He leaped from the road and knelt eagerly in the soft earth beside the water. “Look, they’re exactly like the picture. Exactly!”

“What makes you so sure? You said you drew it from memory.” Lysander stood on the road, scowling down at him.

“It’s a cloven hoof, but round instead of wedge shaped like a deer’s. They’re exactly like Ebron described them. What else could they be? We have to follow them!”

“Into the woods?” said the bard. “Not me, Your Highness.”

“But we must! At least far enough to set a trap. You can tie your ropes to a tree and we won’t leave the rope—I promise. That’s what you brought them for, remember?”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“But it was your idea! Oh, very well, I’ll go myself. Tie the ropes together. You take one end, I’ll take the other, and if I get into trouble I can yank on the rope.”

“If,” Lysander muttered.

Perryn walked resolutely to the edge of the road, where he selected a sturdy pine and tied the end of one of the ropes to it. He tested the knot.

“Oh, all right,” Lysander grumbled. “You follow the tracks and I’ll follow you. I’d like to keep the road in sight if we can.”

“Excellent!”

Perryn set off on the trail of the unicorn. The tracks were so clear that even an inexperienced tracker could follow them.

“I’ve read that unicorn magic is so strong it purifies the earth they walk on.” He walked rapidly, his eyes on the ground. “These tracks look fresh. Do you think they could be? Or is some sort of—”

“I can’t see the road anymore,” the bard interrupted. “It was there just a minute ago.”

“Is your rope still tied?”

Lysander gave it a yank. “Yes.” He gazed uneasily at the forest around them.

“Then stop worrying.”

“Wait a moment, Perryn. I have to tie the other rope to this one.”

Perryn fidgeted impatiently until the bard finished.

“The trail goes up this bank.” Perryn strode on eagerly. “I wonder how much unicorns like everfresh. Watch out for a place to set a trap.”

The tracks wandered up the slope, along a deer trail, and into a broad meadow with a stream running through it.

Lysander’s hand closed over Perryn’s collar. “Stop.”

“But the trail goes—”

“We’re out of rope.”

“Is it still tied to the tree?”

Lysander tugged on it and nodded.

“Then just let me go into the meadow. I won’t be out of sight for a moment. I’m sure these tracks are fresh.”

“No.” Lysander was clutching the rope so tightly his knuckles were white. “We’re going back. Now.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” said the bard angrily. “If I knew I’d have told you long ago. It’s like I’m hearing things I can’t quite hear. I catch a glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye, but when I turn to look there’s nothing there.” He began to walk back, coiling the rope as fast as he could.

“I haven’t seen anything.”

“Except for unicorn tracks,” said Lysander. “You wouldn’t have seen a dragon unless you tripped over it. Are you coming or not?”

Perryn looked at the tracks leading into the meadow. Now that he noticed it, even the sunlit field felt haunted. He turned and followed the bard.

None of the trees looked familiar. If it hadn’t been for the rope and the tracks, Perryn would have sworn they were going the wrong way. He listened for the sound of the stream but he didn’t hear it.

Lysander came to a stop. His sweaty face was pale, his expression grim.

“What is it?” Perryn looked past him, and at last he saw a tree he recognized—a sturdy pine. Lysander’s rope was tied to it. The road was nowhere in sight.

“
IT’S ENTIRELY MY OWN FAULT
,”
SAID LYSANDER
. “I knew you were crazy. Why did I follow you? Why? Why me? No, it’s
your
fault.”

“Me? You’re the bard. You’re the one who’s supposed to know about this forest. And tying the rope to the tree was your idea!”

“How was I to know that the trees moved?”

Exhausted tears burned in Perryn’s eyes and he pulled off his spectacles to rub them. At least it was too dark for the bard to see him. “I still don’t believe it,” he muttered.

“Either the trees moved or the road did. And the unicorn tracks, too. Can any of your books explain that?”

“Maybe somewhere,” said Perryn, trying to control the quiver in his voice. “But if there’s a book that does, I haven’t read it.”

They had followed the tracks backward until they ran into a grove of trees so dense they couldn’t get through. When they circled around it, they found no trace of unicorn tracks on the other side.

With no other course available to them, they followed the tracks back to the meadow with the stream. The sun was low when they reached it, clearly indicating which direction was west. They had entered the forest on the west side and moved east, so they decided to walk toward the sunset. They walked in a straight line for more than three hours.

Perryn noticed unicorn tracks again and again. In spite of himself he began to follow them with his eyes, though his feet still followed the bard, until Lysander stepped out of the forest into a wide meadow with a stream running through it—a meadow they’d already seen twice. It felt strange, to hate the sight of such a beautiful place.

“There are worse things than tears,” said Lysander gently. “I have a cousin who used to cry, and he outgrew it.”

“When he was fourteen?” demanded Perryn. “I hate myself when I cry. But I can’t seem to help it.” He turned away.

“I have an idea,” said Lysander. “Suppose we follow the stream. It will flow into something else eventually, maybe even the stream that crosses the road. We’ll have water, and if we’re lucky with snares, or perhaps catch a fish or two, we’ll have food for about four days. We’d make it. All we have to do is follow the stream.”

“Unless it flows into a lake with no outlet. Or in a circle.”

Lysander opened his mouth to say that a stream couldn’t flow in a circle, then shut it.

“But I’ll bet,” Perryn continued, “that if the stream flows out of the forest, the trees won’t let us follow it.”

“If you have a better idea, then by all means share it.”

“I think I do,” said Perryn hesitantly. “The unicorn tracks don’t seem to be moving. I think that’s why the trees planted themselves so thickly in that one grove, because they had to cover them up.”

“So?”

“There are unicorn tracks all over this wood. And they’re creatures of magic, so they might be able to defeat the magic of the forest.”

“Dragon’s teeth!” the bard exclaimed. “You still want to hunt unicorns? We only have enough food for a few days!”

“Others have been lost in this forest,” Perryn pointed out. “Some of them must have followed the stream. Has anyone ever escaped?”

Lysander began to reply, but evidently no one had, because he stopped.

“All I’m saying is that we ought to try something different,” Perryn continued. “Something that hasn’t failed already.”

“Catching a unicorn to lead you out would certainly be different.” The bard thought it over. Perryn waited.

“Very well,” said Lysander finally. “We’ll spend two days trying to catch a unicorn. But if we haven’t succeeded by then, we try the stream while we still have some food. We need to spend the rest of the night here, though. I’m so tired I’m reeling. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Perryn nodded happily. “I have an idea for a trap already.”

“Good.” Lysander yawned. “Because if we should catch a unicorn, and it won’t lead us out, something that large could extend our food supply for a long time.”

Perryn’s outraged yelp was answered by a snore.

LATER THAT NIGHT
,
PERRYN CREPT AWAY FROM THE
sleeping bard. Catching a unicorn might work, but perhaps there was a simpler way. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Mirror of Idris, I am Perryndon, Prince of Idris. Show me the way out of this wood.”

Perryn held his breath—surely this was something he needed to know!

The mirror flickered. Then, as if Perryn’s hope had willed it into being, an image emerged.

He was looking down from the battlements of Idris Castle, and the army was marching out below him. They were leaving to fight the Norse!

As if following Perryn’s desire, the mirror focused on the man who rode at the head of the column, and Perryn’s heart swelled with pride.

Grave and commanding, the king was talking to a man who rode beside him, nodding respectfully. King Rovan’s armor was better made than that of the men who followed him, but no gold adorned it, and it showed the scars of mending. The king might drink too deeply, but he served his kingdom well, standing against the Norsemen summer after summer, defending us all.

No wonder he was so disappointed in his scholarly son. He deserved—

“The king should be allowed to concentrate on important matters.” Cedric’s voice rose softly from the mirror as the image spun and shifted to the master of arms, who stood on the battlements watching the king ride off to war. The head of the palace guard stood beside him. “If you should get word of the prince, come to me before you send any messengers to His Highness. He shouldn’t be distracted from the campaign. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said the guard.

The vision faded, leaving Perryn chilled with fear—but exasperated as well. How many times had he asked to see his father only to be shown nothing, or something completely irrelevant, and now…. Though he had to admit, Cedric’ sorder was something he
needed
to know. He couldn’t approach any of his father’s guard. No matter what he told them, they’d turn him over to the master of arms.

However, not even Cedric could find him here. Perryn was perfectly safe…except from wandering in circles until he starved to death. He rose wearily to his feet and went back to Lysander. Tomorrow they’d start hunting for a unicorn.

IN THE MORNING
,
PERRYN FOUND THE TRACKS
easily.

“You see? Dozens of tracks. Unicorns must use this path all the time.”

“Hmm,” said the bard. “The trees don’t seem to be changing anymore. You don’t suppose…”

“No,” said Perryn. “I think they’d start to move as soon as we tried to get out.”

“You mean they know our intentions? But that’s insa—What a horrible thought.”

“Come on,” said Perryn. “Let’s see if we can find a place for a trap.”

IT WAS SIMPLE—TWO LARGE SNARE LOOPS
, attached to springy young trees that had been bent almost to the ground. The loops were held slack with a single stake, pounded into the soft soil just deeply enough to hold the trees down.

“We cover the loops with dead leaves,” Perryn explained. “And hide in the bushes till the unicorn steps into the loops. Then we pull the stakes, the trees spring up, the loops go tight…”

“I understand. I taught you how to set a snare, remember? What makes you think a unicorn will step into the loops?”

“For one thing they’re set right across the trail. For another…”

Perryn went over to the snare and opened his cloak, dumping a pile of everfresh to the ground. The blossoms were slightly crushed, but their sweet scent filled the air.

“If you say so,” said the bard sourly.

“Come on,” said Perryn. “Let’s hide. One of them could come along at any moment.”

IT WAS THE MOST BORING DAY OF PERRYN’S LIFE
. He couldn’t see Lysander, much less speak with him. His bruises and scrapes ached. Insect bites itched.

As the sun crawled across the sky he had time to imagine everything that could possibly go wrong, and some things that couldn’t. It helped him stay awake. He hoped Lysander was awake, but he wouldn’t have bet a cracked copper on it—much less his life.

The first stars of evening were blooming in the sky when the unicorn appeared; Perryn’s breath caught at its beauty. It was the size of a small pony, and its white coat glowed in the gathering dusk as if it were made of moonlight. Its hooves gleamed. It hesitated a moment, nostrils widening as it sniffed the air. Then it moved gracefully toward the trap.

Perryn’s heart thudded in his throat and his palms were damp. A few paces from the trap the unicorn hesitated again. Then it reached down daintily, hooked the snare loops with the tip of its horn, and tossed them aside. It stepped into the everfresh and bent its head, inhaling deeply.

Perryn leaped to his feet with a shout, tripped over the stake, and fell flat. Branches thrashed and the rope hissed above his head as the tree sprang upright. He heard the bard crashing through the bushes across from him as he scrambled toward the trap.

The unicorn waited till Lysander had almost reached it, then it cleared the everfresh with a single, agile bound and sprang down the path.

A laugh like silver chimes rang, not in Perryn’s ears, but in his mind. He shook his head and ran down the trail after Lysander and the unicorn.

It led them on a chase. Over rocks, through streams, and in and out of thorny bushes. It vaulted over mud puddles Perryn and the bard had to wade through. Perryn was about to give up when the unicorn came to a skidding stop. Before it lay a patch of bog, too wide to cross with a single leap.

With a cry of triumph Lysander surged forward.

The unicorn glared at the bog, then gathered its muscles and leaped, just as Lysander jumped for it. It lit on a small hummock and teetered precariously.

Lysander fell into the bog, launching a sheet of liquid mud in all directions. The high-pitched shriek in Perryn’s mind made his head ache. With a final, nimble leap the unicorn fled, its spotless white hide shining in the dark.

Perryn pulled the bard out of the mud and waited until the stream of curses ran out. “At least we learned something,” he remarked. “Alirian the teacher wrote that no experiment is a failure if you learn from it.”

“What have we learned? That unicorns are both faster and smarter than we are?”

“It hates mud,” said Perryn. “Look at us. It didn’t have a spot on it. It almost let you catch it rather than risk falling into that muck.”

“I’m not thrilled about it myself.” The bard wiped his muddy hands on his muddy tunic and grimaced. “And what was that…it wasn’t a sound, exactly.”

“I think it must have been a mind-voice,” Perryn said. “I’ve read that many magical creatures possess them, and even the mir—even some man-made artifacts were given voices by their creators, so they could communicate with others. But I’d never heard one before.”

In fact, he’d never dreamed he might hear one, and the thrill of it pulsed in his heart. He’d read that powerful magic was always self-aware and usually possessed some means to give that awareness voice. And magic was what he needed to defeat the dragon!

“Come on,” said Perryn. “I have another plan.”

THE UNICORN WAS MORE CAUTIOUS THE NEXT
night, pausing frequently to smell the breeze and peer about. Perryn had taken care to be downwind of the starting point of his trap. The swamp mud reeked.

The unicorn came slowly down the path and passed his hiding place. Perryn waited till it had almost reached the sharp bend before he leaped out.

“Got you!” he shouted. He ran toward it, swinging a mud-drenched strip of what remained of his cloak. With a mind-splitting shriek the unicorn darted down the trail—just as Perryn had hoped it would! The next shriek, as the unicorn almost collided with the mud-soaked rags he had hung across the path, was even shriller. Perryn was almost on it now. Mud-soaked rags ahead, mud-covered grass and roots draping the bushes to the left, and the mud-drenched boy behind. The unicorn bolted right.

It had taken most of the day to find a place to set this trap, but now the unicorn was racing down a closed chute, the long, wide bog on its left and a wall of muddy bushes on its right. They had sacrificed Perryn’s cloak, all of Lysander’s spare clothes, and one of the ropes to make a solid fence. Unless the unicorn was prepared to get dirty, there was only one direction it could go.

And it was going that way with amazing speed. Perryn was barely able to stay close enough to see the culmination of his plan.

The bog curved. Now the unicorn saw the bog to the right and ahead of it, mud-wrapped bushes to the left, and the muddy boy behind. One of the bushes was lower than the others. With a mighty leap, the unicorn left the ground. It cleared the low bush with inches to spare and lit right in the center of the snare loop. Branches thrashed as the rope whipped around the unicorn’s neck.

Lysander grabbed the other end of the rope, keeping it taut so the unicorn couldn’t slip out of it. “Got you, you slippery moon beam.”

Perryn squirmed through the brush.

The unicorn’s sides heaved. Its eyes rolled up and it slid limply to the ground.