The Prophecy Page 6

  “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.

  “Of course I will aid so noble a cause,” said the unicorn.

  7

  “NOW WHAT?” PERRYN GAZED AT THE UNCONSCIOUS unicorn—he had no idea what to do.

  “Hobbles,” said the bard, snatching up the remainder of their first rope. “As fast as we can make them.” He had barely bound the creature’s back feet when it began to stir.

  “Ooh, what a horrible dream.” The voice chimed in Perryn’s mind. “I dreamed—Eek!”

  Perryn winced, clapping his hands to his temples. “Please, don’t do that.” Nothing he’d ever read had mentioned how loud a mind-voice could be.

  “Stay away from me you…monsters!”

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Perryn. “We need your help. We won’t do anything to you—”

  “Provided you do as we ask,” Lysander said firmly.

  The unicorn struggled to her feet and turned her head, examining her pristine hide. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on her. She took a couple of halting steps in the hobbles, and sighed.

  “I suppose I must help you, if I wish to be free. What is it you want?”

  “A guide,” said the bard. “Can you lead us out of the forest?”

  “As a bard, sir, you should know that. I am a creature of magic, so the curse of the wood doesn’t affect me.”

  “How did you know I was a bard?” asked Lysander suspiciously.

  “By the harp you’re carrying. Just as I know by his gentle manner that this…” She grimaced. “This filthy person is noble born. How should I address you, noble sir? I would hate to do so improperly.”

  “Call me Perryn. My friend’s name is Lysander. And you are?”

  “My name is Prism,” the unicorn’s voice chimed in his head. “And I will gladly lead you from the forest if you’ll free my feet. Not you, Perryn,” she added quickly. “Lysander, if you please. He’s cleaner.”

  “How do we know you won’t run off?” Lysander demanded.

  “Sir! I have given you my word. The unicorn’s creed demands that once you have given your word it cannot be broken. I may be less than a hundred years old, but I am a unicorn, pure of thought, word, and deed. I would never do such a thing.”

  Lysander snorted. “You can walk to the edge of the forest in hobbles. And if you try to run off we’ll grind up your horn and sell it for love potions.”

  “Ooh!” Prism’s eyes rolled up.

  “No, we won’t,” said Perryn. “Don’t faint! We won’t let any harm come to you.”

  Prism’s eyes returned to normal. She swayed unsteadily for a moment, then recovered.

  “You swear you won’t harm me?”

  “You have my oath. I may not be as clean as you’d like, but I keep my promises,” Perryn answered.

  “Very well, noble sir. Free me and I will lead you out.”

  “Ah…there’s one more thing,” said Perryn. “I’m on sort of a quest. Fulfilling a prophecy. And it calls for a unicorn.”

  “Prophecies often mention unicorns,” Prism boasted. “We have a proud history of assisting in quests, because of our healing powers and our courage. The great ones, in the age of heroes, often sought out a unicorn to be their steed when they…you don’t want me to do anything dangerous, do you?”

  “No,” said Perryn quickly. “Just heal us if we fall ill.”

  “Oh, I can do that,” said Prism. “Unicorns can cure the dragon’s wrath, the fever that comes when a dragon’s blood mingles with the blood of a man, and lesser illnesses are even easier to deal with. I can’t do anything about wounds, mind you, because they’re an injury instead of a corruption of the body. But if you happen to fall ill while on your quest, I will certainly heal you. You have my word.”

  “Very well. Let her go, Lysander.”

  “But what if—”

  “Do it.”

  “Humph,” said Prism as Lysander bent to the hobbles. “You obviously know nothing about unicorns. Some bard you are.”

  LYSANDER MUTTERED DARKLY WHEN PRISM LED them north.

  “It’s the quickest way out of the forest,” she told him. “That’s what you said you wanted.”

  And sure enough, by the end of the day the trees began to thin and the eerie feeling lessened.

  “The magic is weaker here,” Prism told them. “The trees can only move slowly. In fact, this would be a good place to stop for the night. We’ll probably be surrounded when we wake up but I can lead you out easily, and that way we can pass by the black bog in the daylight.”

  “The black bog?” Lysander’s voice scaled up. “You led us to the death-sleep marsh?”

  “Near to it,” said Prism apologetically. “But, we’ll go around, I assure you. It’s very dirty.” She shivered.

  “In Polidanus on Potions I read that the black bog never does anything except make people sleep,” said Perryn. “Didn’t people use the water for sleeping potions?”

  “They did,” Lysander admitted. “But the water also makes you sleep if it touches your skin. Too many people came for a sleeping potion, got their feet wet, and fell in and drowned. Sometimes in just a few inches of water, because no one dared to pull them ashore lest they be splashed. That’s how it got its reputation. And why no one in their right mind goes there now.” He glared at Prism.

  “Don’t be so timid,” said the unicorn. “If it weren’t muddy, I could purify the water for hundreds of yards. Maybe even the entire swamp. But since you’re afraid, I’ll take you around it.”

  “But we could still get some of the water,” said Perryn. “Couldn’t we?”

  “Trouble sleeping?” the bard asked ironically. “Death wil
l cure insomnia, that’s for sure. Are you out of your mind?”

  “Who knows what we’ll face when we go looking for the Sword of Samhain? A sleeping potion might be useful.”

  “Why are you two looking for the Sword of Samhain?” Prism asked curiously.

  “Dragon’s teeth! You’re not going on with this prophecy foolishness, are you? We almost got killed in that forest!” Lysander said.

  “But we didn’t,” said Perryn. “And we found a unicorn. The prophecy is coming true, Lysander! Can’t you see it? With Prism to purify the marsh water, what risk is there?”

  “You want me to go into the black bog? All that mud? Never!” Prism sprang to her feet.

  The bard tackled her as she leaped for the forest.

  “BUT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” PRISM WAILED. Her hooves skidded in the soft earth as Perryn and Lysander dragged her onward. “It isn’t just the mud. I’ll be darkened. I’ll start to vanish!”

  Her shoulder slammed into Perryn and he slipped on the spongy ground and almost fell. Only his grasp on the unicorn’s neck saved him.

  Prism had fainted when Lysander caught her. Perryn and the bard had carried the unconscious unicorn to the very edge of the marsh before she came to. She was curiously light for a creature her size, but her struggles were mighty.

  “You’d get less dirty if you stopped fighting, you stupid jackass,” the bard complained, pushing her from behind.

  “We’re not asking you to do anything except save us if we fall in,” Perryn argued, pulling on her mane. “You promised us—”

  “I agreed to heal you,” Prism panted. “No one said anything about saving.” She bucked. The bard tottered and yelped again.

  “But you’re in no danger,” Perryn protested. “You can purify the water—it can’t hurt you.”

  “That’s what you think!”

  Prism’s head went down and her back legs lashed out. The bard yelped. There was an enormous splash, then silence.