The Prophecy by Hilari Bell

a word of that story,” he said when Perryn finished.
    “What?”
    “You said your arms master signed that letter Cerdic.”
    “So?”
    “Cerdic is a Norse name.”
    Yet another bit of information that wasn’t in any of Perryn’s books. After several weeks in Lysander’s company, he was beginning to realize that bardic knowledge could be the equal of a library—in some ways even better.
    “We haven’t been in a town since we went into the forest,” said Perryn. “Cedric must have lost our trail by now. Don’t you think so?”
    “I think that you’re going to be assassinated,” said the bard. “And I’m going to be executed for kidnapping. But we’ll certainly avoid towns from now on. Or maybe…” He looked Perryn over thoughtfully. “If I don’t admit I’m a bard and you change your appearance…it’s only those spectacles that are distinctive, because so few people your age wear them. If you took them off—”
    “I’d be tripping over chairs and talking to the cloak rack,” Perryn told him. “They’d guess.”
    “All right,” said Lysander. “I have a little money left. You wait here with Prism and my harp and I’ll simply buy what we need.” He handed his harp to Perryn and vanished, grumbling, into the rain.
    “I don’t wish to cast aspersions on anyone’s character,” said Prism softly. “But are you sure…”
    “Yes,” said Perryn. “He’s a true bard.” He has to be. Otherwise, it’s all been for nothing.
     
     
    LYSANDER’S MONEY WAS ENOUGH TO PURCHASE food, but no more. In the end they were forced to steal a pick, a shovel, and three torches from a farmer’s shed.
    “We can’t even leave him something else in exchange,” said Perryn regretfully. “We’ll need everything we have in the mountains.”
    “Maybe there’ll be some junk left in the tomb,” Lysander consoled him. “Things that a grave robber wouldn’t have bothered with hundreds of years ago might be valuable now. And we can return the tools on our way back.”
    Prism sniffed. “It’s still very dishonest. As a unicorn, I can have nothing to do with such things.”
    “Nobody asked you to,” the bard retorted. “There’s no way you could help, except…maybe you could carry a torch. We could tie it to your horn.”
    “I will have nothing to do with stolen goods,” said Prism.
    “Of all the—”
    “But you’re helping us look for the tomb,” Perryn pointed out, “even though you know we plan to…ah, borrow what’s there.”
    Prism considered this carefully. “If you were not the Prince of Idris, I would probably refuse.”
    “Snob,” the bard muttered.
    The unicorn ignored him. “But since you are the direct heir of Albion, the twenty-seventh warrior-king, you have a right to the tomb’s contents. So I will be honored to assist Your Highness.”
     
     
    IT TOOK THEM TWO MORE DAYS TO REACH THE valley, and when they got there, they couldn’t find the tomb.
    “The directions said that the shadow of Hevyd’s sword would touch the door at sunset.” Perryn frowned. “It’s sunset, and there is Hevyd’s sword.” He gestured toward the spire of rock that rose from the valley floor. Even without the map’s identification, he’d have known it for what it was. The tip of its shadow darkened the ground at his feet—the flat ground of an open meadow. Not a barrow mound in sight. “So where’s the tomb?”
    “Maybe it’s completely buried.” Lysander pulled his heavy cloak closer. A few snow drifts still lingered in the foothills. With the sun’s departure the night was growing cold.
    “We should be able to see the top of the mound, at least.”
    “Maybe Hevyd’s sword moved,” said the bard.
    “Nonsense,” Perryn snapped. “It might have worn down a bit over the years, but—”
    “So maybe the sun moved! Maybe the tomb moved! Maybe the directions are completely wrong. We’ve been searching this valley for hours and we can’t find the tomb. Can we leave