The Prophecy by Hilari Bell

which to carry your drinking water.”
    “I’ve been thinking about it,” said Perryn. “The stream that fills this marsh comes out of the forest. I’ll bet the sleepiness in this water should be part of the trees, but the magic of the forest drains it out of them and into the water. That’s why the trees are so lively and the water makes you sleep.”
    “You may be right,” said the bard. “So what?”
    “Well, Malthin the sorcerer wrote that the only way to fight a magical creature is with magic. That’s why I started doing research, to find some kind of magic that might work against the dragon—but there wasn’t much. So it seems to me that if I find something magical, I ought to use it. Or try to, anyway.”
    “But if dragons could be defeated with magic, then wouldn’t the Norse just defeat them, instead of…appeasing them, the way they do?” Lysander asked.
    “I’ve thought about that, too,” said Perryn. “We know that the Norse claim to have more control over magic than we do, but if that’s true why don’t they use it against our army? So I think the rumor that they’re controlling the dragon must be exaggerated.”
    “I don’t know,” said Lysander. “And since I never intend to get within five miles of any Norsemen, I don’t much care. Just remember, if we come to the dragon part, I’m leaving.”
    “I think it makes a great deal of sense,” said Prism. “You say the next thing we need is the Sword of Samhain? Where do we go for that?”
    “It’s in the tomb of Albion, the twenty-seventh warrior-king,” said Perryn, gingerly capping his flask. “Lysander will know where that is.”
    “I will?” said Lysander.
    “You mean you don’t? I thought all the songs about the warrior-kings’ deaths talked about their burials!”
    “Certainly. They tell about the speeches people made, and who was there, and even what they wore and ate, but for some reason they never give you explicit directions to the barrow. Haven’t you ever heard of grave robbers, Your Highness?”
    “None of my books said anything about grave robbers,” Perryn protested. He was beginning to wonder if the information in his library tower was as complete as he had once believed.
    “That settles that,” said the bard. “We can’t find the barrow, we can’t find the sword, we can’t fulfill the prophecy. Let’s go south.”
    “No,” said Perryn.
    “Do you know where the barrow is?”
    “No, but I think I can find out. Let’s camp here tonight.”
     
     
    PRISM SLEPT MORE LIGHTLY THAN LYSANDER , BUT finally Perryn was able to take the mirror aside and rest its cool weight on his lap.
    “Mirror of Idris,” he whispered, “will you show me the location of King Albion’s tomb?”
    A familiar image flashed to the surface—a road, with another, smaller track branching off into the low, scrub-covered hills. It was day in the image this time, but it was the same fork in the road Perryn had seen before. And it was still empty.
    Perryn frowned. How could this be important? It certainly wasn’t the location of King Albion’s tomb, for none of the kings was buried near any roads. After Lysander talked about tomb robbers, Perryn had realized why all the barrows were located in isolated hills and valleys.
    “Thank you,” he told the mirror politely. The image of the empty road lingered for a moment before it faded. But the mirror’s failure left only one other option—his library.
    On one hand, at least Perryn’s father wouldn’t be there. On the other hand, Cedric and the guards would. But if neither the mirror nor Lysander could help him, Perryn had no choice. He had to go home.
     
     
    “ YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK INTO IDRIS CASTLE ? This is carrying your fantasy of being a prince too far. They’ll hang us by the thumbs when we get caught!” said Lysander.
    “No, they won’t.” Perryn pushed a low branch out of the way. The shortcut through the woods to the castle was somewhat overgrown.