The Prophecy Read Online Free Page B

more hours to retrace his steps and take the crossroad to Fair Meadows.
    The name had suited the village two years ago, before the dragon had struck. Perryn had watched the flames of the attack from his tower, sick with sympathy—and with guilt for doing nothing, even though he knew there was nothing he could do. He remembered his father’s helpless rage.
    The lean, grim-faced villagers of Fair Meadows got four coppers from his purse before they revealed that the bard had gone east from there. At least they hadn’t recognized Perryn. These men would have turned him over to anyone who offered them a coin. Remaining unnoticed was the only way for Perryn to elude his father. Fortunately, Fair Meadows lay north of the castle. His father would assume he’d fled south, as he had before. It might be weeks before these men were questioned, and hopefully they wouldn’t even remember a curious peasant boy. The sun had been setting when Perryn trudged into Williten and located the crowded inn.
    He heard the tavern maid’s quick, light tread approaching once more.
    “Excu—” Perryn found himself looking at her back again as she whisked away. He reached into his purse and pulled out a copper piece. The tavern maid appeared before him as if by magic.
    “Can I get you something, young sir?”
    “Just some information. I need to know if a bard passed through here a few days ago, and where he went from here.”
    “Oh, I can tell you that.” The copper vanished into her pocket. “He did good business in the taproom for several nights, the saucy scoundrel. He played that old harp of his to a treat. Made everybody merry. That’s why Pa was so peeved when I…” Her eyes slipped down, and she blushed. “We weren’t doing anything, really. But Pa said…well, he asked Lysander to move on. Anything else?”
    “No,” said Perryn, slightly stunned. “Wait! I mean, yes. Do you know where he went?”
    “To Drindle.” The girl gestured to the west. “At least, that’s what he said. But frankly, he’s not the type a girl would do well to believe, if you know what I mean.”
    “Wait,” said Perryn again, as she started to move off. “Is there somewhere I can sleep tonight, for a copper or two? I don’t have much money.”
    “Two coppers for the stables, there’s straw in the loft, water in the well; three coppers for breakfast, pay in advance,” the girl recited crisply.
    Perryn fished out two more coppers, which disappeared as quickly as the first. “Thank—” She was gone.
    Perryn grinned and tucked his purse back in his belt. It was lighter than it had been this morning, but some things were going right—no one would think to search for him in a stable loft. He picked up his satchel and went out, unaware of the man who watched him go.
     
     
    THE STRAW SCRATCHED THROUGH HIS CLOAK . Perryn turned and turned again. Exhausted as he was, he’d expected to fall asleep quickly, despite the fact that the straw pile in the stable loft wasn’t nearly as comfortable as his own bed. At least it was quiet. The horses in the stalls below made little noise beyond the occasional thump of a restless hoof. And as for the smell, well, he liked the scent of horses and dusty leather. So he should be sound asleep right now, but instead, he lay thinking.
    Was his father worrying about him? And what about Cedric? What would he do, now that Perryn had fled? Could he damage Idris irreversibly, if Perryn took too long on his quest? The letter to his chieftain had sounded like the Norsemen were planning for the long term, making slow, sure moves. Still, it might be too soon to try the mirror again, but maybe not. The mirror was notoriously erratic.
    After a few moments of groping in the dark, Perryn settled back with the mirror on his lap. Even when he put on his spectacles, all he could see in the dimness was a faint gleam of light off the glass.
    “Mirror of Idris,” he said softly. “I am Perryndon, Prince of Idris, and I seek your