The Prophecy Read Online Free PDF

we asked him to leave. This is a hard-working village—we don’t encourage vagrants.” The tapster’s gaze was very direct.
    “All right,” said Perryn wearily. “Just tell me where he went.”
    “How should I know?”
    Perryn’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
    “If I were a bard, I’d go to Dunstable,” said the customer. “It’s the only town in the area of any size and there’s a market day tomorrow. A big crowd with lots to spend. Your bard will be there, or I miss my guess. I’m going myself, as soon as the smith fixes my wagon wheel.”
    Perryn turned to study the man. He had big shoulders and a friendly face. “You’re a farmer?”
    “That’s right. I’m going into Dunstable to pick up some seed. Planting time is almost here, and you’ve got to put something into the ground if you want something back.”
    The tapster snorted. “If the dragon doesn’t come along some cold autumn night and burn your harvest to ashes.”
    The farmer gave him a sympathetic glance. “He’s from Fair Meadows,” he told Perryn quietly, and Perryn nodded in sudden understanding. “My wagon will be empty on the way out. I can give you a ride, if you want it.”
     
     
    PERRYN FELL ASLEEP IN THE JOLTING WAGON AND didn’t wake until they rolled onto Dunstable’s noisy cobblestones.
    “It’s getting lively already,” the farmer noted as Perryn scrambled onto the seat beside him. They were part of a long, slow-moving line of carts heading toward the market square.
    As Perryn rubbed the sleep from his eyes and adjusted his spectacles, he saw that the town teemed with people: farmers, housewives, craftsmen, and merchants. He’d never been in a town this large—the village that served Idris Castle was smaller, and when he’d run away before he hadn’t gotten very far. The clamor of voices echoing off the cobbled streets and stone walls was disconcerting, though Perryn tried not to show it. The Prince of Idris shouldn’t gawk like a country bumpkin.
    Then the shutters of an inn flew open, and a man sailed out onto the road. The crashes and thuds of a brawl reached them through the open window. The man rolled to his feet and ran back into the tavern. Shouts for the town guard rose from people on the street. Perryn realized he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
    The flow of carts carried them closer to the brawl. The town guard was coming. Perryn swallowed, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.
    “Don’t worry,” said the farmer cheerfully. “The guard will take care of it.”
    Two burly guardsmen pushed through the crowd and into the tavern. The crashes and thuds grew louder, then began to dwindle.
    “You see,” said the farmer. “Just like I said.”
    Two guards emerged, dragging a slender young man with torn clothes and tangled, light-brown hair. His nose was bleeding onto his brightly embroidered tunic, but he still struggled in the guards’ grip.
    “My harp!” His voice was clear as a tenor bell. “You dragon-blasted fools, my harp’s in there! I’m not going anywhere without it.”
    “You’re going with us, like it or not,” the shorter of the two guards panted.
    “Either you let me get my harp, or I shall report your uncooperative conduct to the mayor himself,” announced the bard. He’d stopped fighting and stood straight, looking almost dignified in spite of his disheveled clothes and hair.
    The taller guard snorted. “What makes you think he’d listen to you?”
    “Because I know his daughter, Hyacinthe,” said the bard. “I saw her just last night.” The tall guard became very still. “She was with you. Of course, she didn’t call herself Hyacinthe then. What name was she using? Alyce? No, Anise, that was it. Tell me, does the mayor know…?”
    The tall guard turned and went back into the tavern. A moment later he emerged carrying a gracefully curved but battered harp, which he shoved into the bard’s waiting hands. The three of them went off through the crowd