He frowned and rubbed his chin with the back of a gauntleted hand. His green eyes narrowed as he peered across the valley, and his lined face was that of a wolf scenting his enemies. "Lord Pryderi is arrogant," he murmured.

Gwydion turned sharply to the war leaders. "I will not await a siege. To do so would be sure defeat. Pryderi has numbers enough to flood us like a wave. We shall give battle beyond the fortress, and we ourselves strike against the wave before it reaches its crest. Math Son of Mathonwy shall command the inner defenses. Only at the last, if so it must be, shall we retreat into the fortress and make our stand there."

Gwydion looked for a long moment at the halls and towers of the castle which had now caught the early rays of the sun. "The Sons of Don raised Caer Dathyl with their own hands, and built it not only as a shield against Arawn but as safeguard for the wisdom and beauty of Prydain. As I would do all in my power to shatter Pryderi, so would I do all to spare Caer Dathyl from destruction. It may be that we shall gain both these ends, or lose both. But we must battle not as sluggish oxen but as swift wolves and cunning foxes."

The Prince of Don spoke quickly to the war leaders, clearly setting forth the tasks of each. Taran felt uneasy. As a boy, he had dreamed of taking a man's place among men; and, as a boy, had deemed himself well fit to do so. Now, amid the grizzled, battle-wise warriors, his strength seemed feeble, his knowledge clouded. Coll, sensing Taran's thoughts, winked encouragement at him. The stout old farmer, Taran knew, had paid close heed to Gwydion's words. Yet Taran guessed that a corner of Coll's heart was distant, busily and happily occupied with his turnip patch.

For much of the morning Pryderi's host held its position while the defenders quickly formed their own battle lines. At some distance beyond the walls of Caer Dathyl, heavily armed fighting men stood ready to bear the brunt of Pryderi's assault, and there Gwydion himself would command. Fflewddur and Llyan, with Taliesin and a company of warrior-bards, held a post across the valley. The Commot horsemen would be at the flank of Pryderi's attack and it would be their task to slash into the onrushing wave, to disrupt and sap the strength from the enemy's arms.

Taran and Coll at the head of one troop, and Llassar entrusted to lead another, galloped to their stations. Gurgi, silent and shivering in his huge jacket, drove the banner of the White Pig into the frozen ground to mark a rallying point. Taran felt the eyes of the foe watching every move, and an odd impatience, mixed with fear, drew him taut as a bowstring.

Gwydion, astride Melyngar, rode up for a last glance at the ordering of the Commot men, and Taran cried out to him, "Why does Pryderi wait? Does he mock us? Are we no more than ants to him, laboring at a hill, to be crushed at his pleasure?"

"Patience," answered Gwydion in a tone that was both the reassurance of a friend and the command of a war leader. "You are swords added to my hands," Gwydion went on. "Do not let yourselves be shattered. Move quickly, stay not over long in one fray, but start many." He took Taran's hand and Coll's and Gurgi's. "Farewell," Gwydion said almost brusquely, then spun Melyngar about and rode siftly to his warriors.

Taran watched him until he had disappeared, then turned toward the distant towers of Caer Dathyl. Eilonwy, along with Glew, had been commanded to remain in the fortress under the High King's protection. Taran strained his eyes in the vain hope of glimpsing her on the walls. What she might feel for him he was no more sure than he had been at Caer Dallben; but, despite his resolve, he was on the verge of speaking his own heart fully. Then, suddenly, like a man swept away in a flood, he had been caught up in the rallying of warriors, without even a moment to say his farewell. Yearning pierced him, and regret for his unspoken words was an iron hand gripping his throat.

He started and clenched the reins as Melynlas, snorting a white cloud, began to paw the ground. At a glance he saw Pryderi's host had risen and was surging into the valley. The battle was upon him.

It came quickly, not as the slow-cresting wave Taran had expected. First was a swelling sea of shouting men. The Sons of Don were not awaiting Pryderi's charge but were racing ahead to grapple with the attacking foe. He saw Gwydion on the rearing white shape of Melyngar. But Taran could not tell the instant of the first clash of arms; for in a moment, instead of two tides there was only one that spun and shifted in a great convulsion, a whirlpool of spears and swords.

Taran sounded his horn and, as an answering shout came from Llassar, clapped heels into the flanks of Melynlas. Coll and the Commot horsemen spurred their mounts after him. From a swift canter the powerful legs of Melynlas stretched to a gallop. The stallion's muscles heaved beneath him and Taran, sword raised, plunged into the sea of men. His head spun and he gasped as if drowning. He realized he was terrified.

Around him swirled the faces of friends and foes. He glimpsed Llonio flailing right and left. The man's makeshift helmet bobbed over his eyes, his long legs were drawn up high in the stirrups, and he looked like nothing so much as a scarecrow come to life; yet, where Llonio passed, attackers fell as wheat to a scythe. Hevydd's burly frame rose like a wall in the midst of the combat. Of Llassar there was no sign, but Taran thought he could hear the young shepherd's high-pitched battle cry. Then a furious roaring reached his ears and he knew Llyan, with Fflewddur, had entered the fray. In another moment, aware of nothing beyond the blade in his hand, Taran was locked in a blind madness with warriors who thrust at him and whose blows he strove to return.

Again and again Taran and the Commot horsemen slashed deep into the attackers' flanks, then wheeled to gallop free of the iron whirlpool, only to plunge back again. In a flash of clarity Taran saw glittering gold and crimson. It was King Pryderi on a black charger. Taran struggled to engage him. For an instant their eyes met, but the Son of Pwyll made no attempt to answer the challenge of a ragged horseman. Instead, he looked away and continued to press ahead. Then he was gone. And it was Pryderi's scornful glance that stung Taran more sharply than the blade which swung up from the mass of foemen to lash across his face.

Once, the swell of the armed tide flung Taran to the fringes of the battle. He caught sight of Gurgi's banner and tried to rally the horsemen around it. A trough had opened up amid Pryderi's ranks. In another moment a horse pounded toward him: Lluagor. A warrior armed with a long lance clung to the steed's back.

"Go back!" Taran shouted at the top of his voice. "Have you lost your wits?"

Eilonwy, for it was she, half-halted. She had tucked her plaited hair under a leather helmet. The Princess of Llyr smiled cheerfully at him. "I understand you're upset," she shouted back, "but that's no cause to be rude." She galloped on.

For a time, Taran could not believe he had really seen her.

Moments later, he was struggling against a band of warriors who slashed at Melynlas, threw themselves against the stallion's flanks, and strove to bear down horse and rider. Taran was vaguely aware of someone seizing his mount's bridle and dragging him to the side. Pryderi's warriors fell away. Free of the press, he turned in the saddle and blindly flung up his sword against the new attacker.

It was Coll. The stout. farmer had lost his helmet. His bald crown was as scratched as if he had plunged headlong into briars. "Save your sword for your foes, not your friends!" he cried.

Taran's surprise left him speechless an instant, before he stammered, "You saved my life, Son of Collfrewr."

"Why, so perhaps I , did," replied Coll, as though the idea had suddenly come to him.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing like a pair of fools.

Only toward sundown, when the sky itself seemed streaked with blood, did Taran gain a new sense of the battle. Gwydion's warriors, flung across the path of Pryderi's advance, had met the full fury of their attackers. The hosts of Pryderi had faltered, as though stumbling over their own dead. The wave had crested and hung poised. Now a fresh wind surged over the valley. Taran's heart leaped as shouts of renewed strength rang from the warriors of Don. They pressed onward, driving all before them. Taran sounded his horn and with the Commot horsemen galloped to join the sweeping tide.

The ranks of the enemy parted like a shattered wall. Taran clutched at his reins, Melynlas reared and whinnied in alarm. A shudder of horror racked the valley. Taran saw and understood why, even before the rising current of outcries reached his ears.

"The Cauldron-Born! The deathless warriors!"

The men of Pryderi fell back to let them pass, as if in fearful homage. In ghastly silence, their pace neither fast nor slow, the Cauldron-Born filled the breach and the valley rang with the tread of their heavy boots. In the crimson haze of the dying sun their faces seemed all the more livid. Their eyes were cold and dull as stones. Unfaltering, the column of deathless warriors bore toward Caer Dathyl. Among them, slung about with ropes, they carried an iron-capped battering ram.

The foemen flanking the Cauldron-Born now turned suddenly to launch a fresh attack against the Sons of Don. In horror, Taran realized why Pryderi had delayed, and understood his arrogance. Only now had the traitor King's plan reached its fulfillment. Behind the long column of Cauldron-Born fresh fighting men streamed from the heights. For Pryderi, the long day of battle had been no more than a mockery. The slaughter had begun.

At the fortress, bowmen and spearmen of the inner defenses thronged the walls. The mute Cauldron-Born did not falter in the storm of arrows. Though every shaft found its mark, the foe moved steadily onward, pausing only to rip the arrows from their unbleeding flesh. Their features showed neither pain nor anger, and no human cry, no shout of triumph passed, their lips. From Annuvin they had journeyed as though from the grave, their task only to bring death, unpitying, implacable as their own lifeless faces.

Against the pounding of the battering ram the gates of Caer Dathyl groaned and trembled. The massive hinges loosened, while echoes of the driving ram shuddered through the fortress. The portal splintered, the first breach gaped like a wound. The Cauldron-Born gathered strength once more to force the ram forward. The gates of Caer Dathyl shattered and fell inward. Trapped between the ranks of Pryderi's warriors, the Sons of Don fought vainly to reach the fortress. Sobbing with fury and despair, Taran, helpless, saw the Cauldron-Born stride past the broken gates.

Before them stood Math the High King. He was attired in the raiment of the Royal House, belted with links of gold, and on his brow glittered the Gold Crown of Don. About his shoulders was a cloak of fine white wool, wrapped as though it were a burial garment. Outstretched, his withered hand gripped a naked sword.

The deathless warriors of Annuvin halted as if at the faint stirring of some clouded memory. The moment passed and they strode on. The field of battle was silent now; an awed hush had fallen even upon the men of Pryderi. The High King did not turn away as the Cauldron-Born drew closer, his eyes fixed theirs as he raised his sword defiantly. Unflinching he stood in pride and ancient majesty. The first of the pallid warriors was upon him. Grasping the flashing sword in his frail hands, the High King swung it downward in a sweeping blow. The warrior's blade turned it aside, and the Cauldron-Born struck heavily. King Math staggered and dropped to one knee. The mass of mute warriors pressed forward, their weapons thrusting and slashing. Taran covered his face with his hands and turned away weeping, as Math Son of Mathonwy fell and the iron-shod boots of the Cauldron-Born pressed their relentless march over his lifeless body. From the dark hills then there rose the long notes of a hunting horn, trembling, echoing among the crags, and a shadow seemed to brush the sky above the fortress.

Now behind the Cauldron-Born the men of Pryderi streamed through the broken gates, while waves of attackers drove the remnants of Gwydion's army into the heights, scattering them amid snowfilled gullies. From Caer Dathyl came new claps of thunder as the ram of the Cauldron-Born turned against the walls to breach them in turn. Flames rose above the Great Hall, above the Hall of Lore, and from the Middle Tower was unfurled the crimson hawk of Pryderi.

Beside it, blotting out the dying sun, spread the black banner of Arawn Lord of Annuvin.

Caer Dathyl had fallen.

Chapter 12

The Red Fallows

ALL NIGHT THE DESTRUCTION raged and by morning Caer Dathyl lay in ruins. Fires smouldered where once had stood the lofty halls. The swords and axes of the Cauldron-Born had leveled the hemlock grove near the mounds of honor. In the dawn light the shattered walls seemed bloodstained.

The army of Pryderi, denying even the right of burial for the slain, had driven the defenders into the hills east of Caer Dathyl. It was there, amid the turmoil of the makeshift camp, the companions found one another again. Faithful Gurgi still bore the banner of the White Pig, though its staff had been broken and the emblem slashed almost beyond recognition. Llyan, with Fflewddur beside her, crouched in the scant shelter of a rocky outcropping; her tail twitched and her yellow eyes still glowed with anger. Hevydd the Smith built a campfire, and Taran, Eilonwy, and Coll tried to warm themselves at the embers. Llassar, though sorely wounded, had lived through the battle; but the enemy had taken cruel toll of the Commot men. Among those who lay stark and silent on the trampled battleground was Llonio Son of Llonwen.

One of the handful of survivors from the inner defenses of the fortress was Glew. A warrior of Don, finding him lost and dazed outside the walls, had taken pity on his plight and brought him to the camp. The former giant was pathetically glad to rejoin the companions, though he was still too terrified and trembling to do more than mumble a few words. With a torn cloak over his shoulders, he huddled beside the fire and held his head in his hands.

Gwydion stood alone. For long, his eyes did not leave the column of black smoke staining the sky above the ruins of Caer Dathyl. At last he turned away and ordered all who had lived out the day to assemble. Taliesin came to stand before them and, taking up Fflewddur's harp, sang a lament for the slain. Amid the black pines the voice of the Chief Bard rose in deep sorrow, yet it was sorrow without despair; and while the notes of the harp were heavy laden with mourning they held, as well, the clear strains of life and hope.

As the melody died away Taliesin lifted his head and spoke quietly. "Each broken stone of Caer Dathyl shall be a mark of honor, and the whole valley a resting place for Math Son of Mathonwy and all our dead. But a High King still lives. As I honor him, so do I honor all who stand with him." He turned to Gwydion and bowed deeply. The warriors drew their swords and cried out the name of the new King of Prydain.

Gwydion then called the companions to him. "We meet only to part," he said. "Pryderi's victory gives us one choice and one hope. Though messengers bear tidings of our defeat to King Smoit and his army, and to the lords of the north, we dare not await their help. What we do must be done now. Not even a battle host tenfold greater than Pryderi's can withstand the Cauldron-Born. Army after army can be flung against them only to swell the ranks of the slain.

"Yet here is the seed of our hope," Gwydion said. "Never in man's memory has Arawn sent his deathless warriors abroad in such strength. He has taken the greatest risk for the greatest gain. And he has triumphed. But his triumph has become his moment of greatest weakness. Without the Cauldron-Born to guard it, Annuvin lies open to attack. So must we attack it."

"Do you believe then that Annuvin is unguarded?" Taran asked quickly. "Are there none other who serve Arawn?"

"Mortal warriors, surely," replied Gwydion, "and perhaps a force of Huntsmen. But we have strength to overcome them, if the Cauldron-Born do not reach Annuvin in time to aid them."

Gwydion's blood-streaked face was hard as stone. "They must not reach Annuvin. As their power dwindles the longer they remain beyond the Death-Lord's realm, so at all cost must they be hindered, delayed, turned from every path they follow."

Coll nodded. "Indeed, this is our only hope, whatever. And it must be done quickly, for now they will seek to return quickly to their master. But can we overtake them once they are on the march? Can we hinder them and at the same time mount our own attack against Annuvin?"

"Not if we journey as one army," Gwydion, said. "Instead, we must separate into two bands. The first, and smaller, shall be given as many horses as can be spared, and hasten to pursue the Cauldron-Born. The second shall make their way to the Valley of Kynvael and follow its river northwest to the coast. The valley land is gentle, and with forced marches the sea can be reached in no more than two days.

"The sea must aid our venture," Gwydion continued, "for Pryderi can too easily forbid our army's journey overland." He turned to Taran. "Math Son of Mathonwy spoke to you of the ships that bore the Sons of Don from the Summer Country. These vessels were not abandoned. Still seaworthy, they have ever been held ready against a day of need. A faithful folk guard them in a hidden harbor near the mouth of the river Kynvael. They will carry us to the western shore of Prydain, close to the bastions of Annuvin itself.

"Two men alone have knowledge of the harbor," Gwydion added. "One was Math Son of Mathonwy. The other is myself. I have no choice but to lead the seaward march. As for the other journey," he said to Taran, "will you accept to lead it?"

Taran raised his head. "I serve as you command."

"I do not command this," replied Gwydion. "I order no man to such a task against his will. And all who follow you must do so willingly."

"Then it is my will to do so," Taran answered.

The companions murmured their assent.

"The vessels of the Sons of Don are swift," Gwydion said. "I ask you to delay the Cauldron-Born but a little while. Yet all hangs on that little."

"If I fail," Taran said, "how shall I send word to you? Should the Cauldron warriors reach Annuvin ahead of you, your plan cannot succeed and you must turn back."

Gwydion shook his head. "There can be no turning back, for there is no further hope. Should either of us fail, all our lives are forfeit."

LLASSAR, HEVYDD, AND ALL the other Commot folk chose to follow Taran. With them were joined the surviving warriors of Fflewddur Fflam, and together they made the greater portion of Taran's band. To the surprise of the companions, Glew chose to ride with them.

The former giant had recovered from his fright, at least enough to regain much of his customary peevishness. He had, however, regained all of his appetite and demanded food in great quantity from Gurgi's wallet of provisions.

"I've had my fill of being dragged here and there by the scruff of the neck," said Glew, licking his fingers, "and now I'm either to be put on a ship or cast among a herd of horses. Very well, I shall take the latter, for at least it's not so wet and salty. But I assure you I would have agreed to neither, when I was a giant.

Fflewddur glowered at the former giant and spoke apart with Taran. "It seems we're doomed, on top of all our other woes, to put up with that whining weasel at every step. And I can't help feeling that in the back of that puny little mind he's hoping somehow to feather his own nest." The bard shook his head and gave Taran a sorrowful look. "But are any nests left to feather? There's not a safe place even for Glew to hide his head."

Gurgi had tied the banner of the White Pig to a new staff, but he sighed mournfully at the tattered emblem. "Poor piggy!" he cried. "None can see her now, for she is torn into threadings and shreddings!"

"I promise to sew another," Eilonwy said. "As soon as..." She stopped abruptly and said no more, as she climbed astride Lluagor. Taran saw her troubled glance. The Princess of Llyr would wait long, he feared, before her hands worked with an embroidery needle. And, unspoken but in his heart was the dread that none of them might see Caer Dallben again. At the end of their grim race, death might be the only prize.

Armed with spears and swords, the warriors were mounted and ready. With a last farewell to Gwydion, the companions rode westward from the hills.

IT WAS COLL'S JUDGMENT that the Cauldron-Born would march directly to Annuvin, following the straightest and shortest path. At the head of the column winding its way ,from the snowswept heights, Llassar rode beside Taran. The skill of the young shepherd eased their passage, and he guided them swiftly toward the lowlands, unseen by Pryderi's army which had begun to withdraw from the valley around Caer Dathyl.

For some days they journeyed, and Taran began to fear the retreating Cauldron-Born had outdistanced them. Nevertheless, they could do no more than press on as quickly as possible, southward now, passing through long stretches of sparse woodland.

It was Gurgi who first sighted the deathless warriors. The creature's face went gray with fright as he pointed to an expanse of rock-strewn plain. Glew blinked, choked, and could barely swallow the food he was munching. Eilonwy watched silently, and the bard gave a low whistle of dismay.

Taran's heart sank at the sight of the column moving like a long serpent over the flatlands. He turned questioningly to Coll. "Can we hold them off at all?"

"A pebble can turn aside an avalanche," said Coll, "or a twig stem a flood."

"I daresay," muttered Fflewddur. "What happens to the twig or pebble afterward I should rather not think about."

Taran was about to signal the warriors to form for an attack, but Coll took his arm. "Not yet, my boy," he said. "First, I would be sure of the path these creatures of Arawn mean to follow to Annuvin. If the twig is to do its work, it must be well placed."

For the rest of that day and the morning of the next, the companions matched their own progress with the march of the Cauldron-Born, sometimes ahead, sometimes along their flank, but never losing sight of the deathless warriors. It seemed to Taran that the Cauldron-Born had slowed their pace. The dark column moved without faltering, but heavily, as though burdened. He spoke of this to Coll, who nodded in satisfaction.

"Their strength ebbs a little," Coll said. "Time works for us, but I think we must soon work for ourselves."

They had reached a broad, winding belt of wasteland where grassless earth stretched away on either side as far as the eye could see. The dead ground was broken, rutted as though ill-plowed, slashed with deep ditches and gullies. No tree, no shrub rose from the dull red earth, and nowhere did Taran see the faintest sign that any growing thing had ever flourished there. He looked at it uneasily, chilled not only by the bitter wind but by the silence that hovered like frozen mist about the lifeless land.

He asked, in a low voice, "What place is this?"

Coll grimaced. "The Red Fallows, it is called now. At the moment," he added wryly, "I fear it is much the way my garden looks."

"I have heard it spoken of," Taran said, "though I believed to be it no more than a traveler's tale."

Coll shook his head. "No traveler's tale, whatever. Men have long shunned it, yet once it was the fairest realm in Prydain. The land was such that all manner of things would grow, as if overnight. Grains, vegetables, fruits--- why, in size and savor the apples from the orchards here would have made mine look like shriveled windfalls beside them. A prize it was, to be won and held, and many lords fought for its possession. But in the fighting over it, year after year, the hooves of steeds trampled the ground, the blood of warriors stained it. In time the land died, as did those who strove to claim it from their fellows, and soon its blight crept far beyond the battle grounds." Coll sighed. "I know this land, my boy, and it does not please me to see it again. In my younger days I, too, marched with the battle hosts, and left not a little of my own blood in the Fallows."

"Will they never flourish?" Taran asked, looking with dismay at the wasted expanse. "Prydain could be a rich land with the abundance they might bear. It would be a shame worse than bloodshed to leave these fields thus. Would the soil not yield again if it were labored well?"

"Who can say?" answered Coll. "Perhaps. No man has tilled it for years long past. But for us now that is all by-the-by." He gestured toward the heights rising sharply at the distant edge of the fields. "The Red Fallows stretch along the Hills of Bran-Galedd, southwestward almost to Annuvin. From here it is the longest but easiest path to Arawn's realm, and if I judge aright the Cauldron-Born will follow it swiftly to their master."

"We must not let them pass," Taran replied. "Here we must make our first stand and hinder them as best we can." He glanced toward the heights. "We must force them into the hills. Among rocks and broken ground, we might set snares or lure them into ambush. It is all we can hope to do."

"Perhaps," said Coll. "Though before you choose, know this: the Hills of Bran-Galedd also give a path to Annuvin, and a shorter one. They rise sharper as they go westward and turn soon to steep crags. There stands Mount Dragon, the highest peak, guarding the Iron Portals of the Land of Death. It is a harsh passage, cruel and dangerous--- more so for us than for the deathless Cauldron-Born. We can lose our lives. They cannot."

Taran frowned anxiously, then said with a bitter laugh, "Indeed, there is no happy choice, old friend. The path of the Red Fallows is easier but longer; the mountain way, harder and shorter!" He shook his head. "I have not the wisdom to decide. Have you no counsel for me?"

"The choice must be yours, war leader," answered Coll. "Yet, as a grower of turnips and cabbages, I might say if you trust your strength, the mountains may be friend as much as foe."

Taran smiled at him sorrowfully. "Little trust do I put in the strength of an Assistant Pig-Keeper alone," he said after a long moment, "but much in the strength and wisdom of his companions. So be it. We must drive the Cauldron warriors into the hills."

"Know this, too," said Coll. "If such is your choice, it must be done at this place and at all cost. Farther southward the Fallows widen, the plain grows broad and flat; and there is danger the Cauldron-Born may escape our reach if we fail here."

Taran grinned. "Now that is simple enough for an Assistant Pig-Keeper to understand."

Taran rode back through the column of warriors to tell them of the plan they were to follow. Though he cautioned Eilonwy and Gurgi to hold themselves as far as possible from the fray, he could judge, with little difficulty, that the Princess of Llyr had no intention of heeding his warning. As for Taran himself, the decision he had taken lay heavily on him; his doubts and fears only sharpened as the horsemen rallied at the fringe of woodland and as the moment for their advance across the Fallows drew closer. He felt cold; the wind muttering across the rutted fields seeped through his cloak like an icy flood. He caught sight of Coll, who winked at him and nodded his bald crown in a quick gesture. Taran raised the horn to his lips and signaled the warriors forward.

At Coll's counsel the companions and each horseman had cut stout branches from the trees. Now, like ants burdened with straws, the column entered the wasteland, struggling across the ruts and gullies. To their right rose the ruins of a wall, some ancient boundary, useless now, whose broken slabs stretched over much of the Fallows' width and ended near the steep ascent of the Bran-Galedd Hills.

It was there that Taran, with all haste, led the toiling band of warriors. The Cauldron-Born, it seemed to him, had already glimpsed them, for the dark column quickened its own pace, thrusting rapidly across the Fallows. Taran's horsemen had dismounted and raced to fling their branches between the gaps in the wall. The column of Cauldron-Born marched closer. Beside them rode mounted Huntsmen garbed in heavy jackets of wolfskin, the troop captains whose harsh commands reached Taran's ears like the snapping of a lash. Their orders rang in a language unknown to him, but Taran well understood their scornful tone and the brutal laughter that spat from their lips.

As at Caer Dathyl, the Cauldron-Born held their ranks, striding onward, unwavering. They had drawn their swords from their belts of heavy bronze. The bronze studs covering their leather breastplates glinted dully. Their pallid faces were frozen, as empty as their staring eyes.

Suddenly the horns of the captains screamed like hawks. The Cauldron warriors stiffened, and in another moment lunged forward at a faster gait, running heavily across the dark red earth.

The men of the Commots leaped to their makeshift barrier of rocks and branches. The Cauldron-Born flung themselves against the ruined wall and strove to clamber upwards. Fflewddur, leaving Llyan with Glew amid the other steeds, had snatched up a long branch and, shouting at the top of his voice, thrust it like a spear, into the mass of climbing warriors. Beside him, Gurgi flailed a huge staff, striking desperately at the rising wave. Heedless of Taran's warning outcry, Eilonwy plied her spear and it was under her furious onslaught that the first Cauldron warrior toppled and fell, struggling to regain his footing amid the ranks that streamed silently over him. Taran's band redoubled their efforts, slashing, sweeping, fending off the mute foe with all their strength.

Others among the deathless troops lost their footing as the surging attackers threw themselves blindly against the barrier, only to be struck down by the lashing staves and spear shafts of the Commot men.

"They fear us!" cried the bard in frenzied joy. "See! They turn away! If we can't slay them, Great Belin, we can still push them back!"

In the turmoil of warriors and the shrilling of the Huntsmen's horns, Taran glimpsed the ranks of Cauldron-Born veer from the threatening hedge of spears. His heart leaped. Were the captains indeed fearful of the hindrance, of the waning power of their mute host? Even now the attacking wave seemed weaker, though he could not be sure that it was no more than his hope that made it appear so. No longer was he even sure how long they struggled at the wall. Wearied by the endless thrusts of his spear, he felt it had been forever, although the sky was still light.

Of a sudden, he realized Fflewddur was right. The silent mass of deathless warriors had fallen back. The Huntsmen captains had taken their decision. Like beasts that find their prey too well hidden, and unworthy of their efforts, the mounted leaders sounded a long, wavering note on their horns. The ranks of Cauldron-Born swung toward the Hills of Bran-Galedd.

Cheers burst from the Commot warriors. Taran spun about to find Coll. But the old warrior was hastening farther along the wall. Taran cried out to him, then in dismay realized what Coll had seen. A band of Cauldron-Born had broken from the main force and now strove to clamber through an undefended breach.

Coll reached it as the first Cauldron warrior had begun to force himself over the stones. The old man was upon him in an instant and, dropping his spear, seized the warrior in his burly arms and flung him downward. While other Cauldron-Born swarmed to the breach, Coll snatched out his sword and laid about him right and left, heedless of the attackers' hacking and stabbing blades. Shouting in wrath as the a weapon shattered in his hands, the stout farmer cast it away and struck out with his heavy fists. The deathless warriors clung to him, striving to pull him into their midst, but he shook them off, ripped a sword from the grasp of a tottering Cauldron-Born, and swung it as if he meant to fell an oak with a single blow.

Taran was at Coll's side in a moment. The horns of the Huntsmen screamed the signal to retreat. Now Taran realized the attack had truly ended with this last convulsion. The Cauldron-Born had begun to scale the heights. The Red Fallows were barred to them.

Coll was bleeding heavily from the head; his fleece-lined coat, bloodsoaked, was slashed and tattered by the blades of the Cauldron-Born. Quickly, Taran and Fflewddur carried him between them to the bottom of the wall. Gurgi, whimpering in distress, hurried to aid them. Eilonwy had torn off her cloak to cushion the old farmer against the harsh stones.

"After them, my boy," Coll gasped. "Give them no rest. The twigs have turned the flood, but it must be turned again, and many times, if you would block the way to Annuvin."

"One stout oak tree has turned it,'' Taran replied. "Once again, I have leaned on it." He took Coll's work-hardened hands and gently tried to lift him.

Coll's broad face grinned and he shook his head. "I am a farmer," he murmured, "but warrior enough to know my own death wound. Go along, my boy. Carry with you no more burdens than you must."

"What then," answered Taran, "will you have me break the promise I made? That we will dig and weed together?" But the words came painfully as a dagger wound.

Eilonwy, her face drawn, looked anxiously at Taran.

"I had hoped one day to sleep in my own garden," Coll said. "The drone of bees would have pleased me more than the horn of Gwyn the Hunter. But I see the choice was not to be mine."

"The horn of Gwyn does not blow for you," said Taran. "You hear the Cauldron-Born summoned to retreat." Yet even as he spoke, the faint notes of a horn rose above the hills and its dying echoes trembled like shadows over the wasteland. Eilonwy covered her face with her hands.

"See to our plantings, my boy," said Coll.

"We shall both do so," answered Taran. "The weeds will no more stand against you than did Arawn's warriors."

The stout old farmer did not answer. It was a long moment before Taran realized that Coll was dead.

WHILE THE GRIEVING COMPANIONS gathered stones from the ruined wall, with his own hands Taran hollowed out a grave in the harsh earth, allowing none other to aid him in this task. Even when the humble mound had risen above Coll Son of Collfrewr, he did not move from it, but ordered Fflewddur and the companions to press on into the Hills of Bran-Galedd, where he would join them before nightfall.

For long he stood silently. As the sky darkened, at last he turned away and climbed heavily astride Melynlas. He halted another moment by the mound of red earth and rough stones.

"Sleep well, grower of turnips and gatherer of apples," Taran murmured. "You are far from where you longed to be. So, too, am I."

Alone he rode across the darkening Fallows to the waiting hills.

Chapter 13

Darkness

IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, the companions strove to overtake the Cauldron-Born and again fling themselves across the path of the retreating warriors, but their progress was agonizingly slow. Taran knew Coll had spoken truly when he had called the Hills of Bran-Galedd both friend and foe: the rocky troughs and narrow defiles, the sudden drops where the ground fell away sharply into frozen gorges offered the companions their only hope of delaying the deathless host moving onward like a river of iron. But at the same time, from the high crags of the west, gusts of snow-laden wind battered the struggling band with icy hammers. The winding trails were slippery and treacherous. The ravines held deep pits filled with snow, where horse and rider might founder beyond rescue.

In the hills, Taran's most trusted guide was Llassar. Surefooted, long used to mountain ways, the Commot youth was now shepherd to a different, grimmer flock. More than once, Llassar's keen senses kept the companions from the icy traps of snow-hidden crevices, and he discovered pathways no other eye could see. But the progress of the ragged band was nonetheless slow, and all suffered cruelly from the cold, men and animals alike. Only the great cat, Llyan, showed no concern for the bitter blasts that drove frosty needles against the faces of the companions.

"She seems to be enjoying herself," Fflewddur sighed, huddling in his cloak. He had been obliged to dismount, for Llyan had suddenly taken it into her head to sharpen her huge claws against a tree trunk. "And so should I," he added, "if I had her coat."

Gurgi ruefully agreed. Since entering the hills, the poor creature had grown more and more to resemble a drift of hairy snow. The cold had even stopped Glew's endless whining; the former giant pulled his hood over his face and little could be seen of him but the frostbitten end of his flabby nose. Eilonwy, too, was unwontedly silent. Her heart, Taran knew, was as heavy as his own.

Yet Taran forced himself, as far as he was able, to put grief aside. His dogged pursuit had at last brought his warriors within striking distance of the Cauldron-Born, and now he thought only of the means to slow their march to Annuvin. As at the Red Fallows, the companions labored to build barriers of tree limbs, and set them across a narrow gorge, toiling until the sweat drenched their garments and froze in the bitter wind. This time the livid warriors overran them, mutely hacking away the branches with their swords. In despair, the men of the Commots clashed hand-to-hand with the oncoming foe; but the Cauldron-Born slashed mercilessly through their ranks. Taran and the Commot men sought to block the way with heavy boulders; but even with the help of Hevydd's mighty arms this labor was beyond their strength, and the toll of the slain only rose higher.

The days were a white nightmare of snow and wind. The nights were frozen with hopelessness, and like exhausted animals the companions found respite amid rocky overhangs and the scant shelter of the mountain passes. Yet concealment served little purpose, the presence of the Commot warriors was known and their movements quickly sighted by the enemy captains. At first, the Cauldron-Born had chosen to disregard the ragged band; now the deathless marchers not only quickened their pace, they swung closer to Taran's riders as though eager to join battle.

This puzzled Fflewddur, who rode beside Taran at the head of the column.

Taran frowned and shook his head grimly. "I understand it all too well," he said. "Their power had waned when they were farther from Annuvin. Closer, it returns to them, and as we grow weaker, they grow stronger. Unless we halt them, one time for all, our efforts will do no more than sap our own strength. Soon," he added bitterly, "we shall defeat ourselves more sharply than Arawn's warriors could ever hope to do."

But he said nothing of another fear that lay in all their hearts. Each passing day showed more clearly the Cauldron Born were turning south, away from the Hills of Bran-Galedd and once again toward the swifter, easier way of the Red Fallows. With dour satisfaction, Taran judged this to mean the enemy still feared the pursuers and would strive to any lengths to be rid of them.

Snow fell that night, and the companions halted, blinded by the whirling flakes and by their own weariness. Before dawn the Cauldron-Born attacked their camp.

At first, Taran believed only one company of the mute warriors had overrun his outposts. As the Commot warriors sprang to arms amid the terrified shrieking of horses and the clang of blades, he quickly realized the entire enemy column was slashing across his lines. He spurred Melynlas into the fray. Fflewddur, with Glew clinging to his waist, was astride Llyan, who sped in great bounds to join the embattled defenders. Taran had lost sight of Eilonwy and Gurgi among the rush of warriors. Like a ruthless sword, the Cauldron-Born had split the Commot horsemen's ranks and were streaming through unhindered, crushing all who stood against them.

All day the uneven battle raged while the men of the Commots struggled vainly to rally their forces. By dusk the path of the Cauldron-Born was a bloody wake of wounded and slain. In one deadly blow, the Cauldron host had broken free of their pursuers to move swiftly and unfaltering from the hills.

Eilonwy and Gurgi were missing.

Fearful and dismayed, Taran and Fflewddur pressed their way through the shattered remnants of the war band struggling to regain their ranks. Torches had been lit to signal rallying points for the stragglers, who stumbled wounded and bewildered among the bodies of their fallen comrades. Throughout the night Taran searched frantically, sounding his horn and shouting the names of the lost companions. With Fflewddur, he had ridden beyond the battleground, hoping for some sign of either one of them. There was none, and the new snowfall, which began toward dawn, covered all, tracks.

By midmorning, the survivors had gathered. The passage of the Cauldron-Born had taken heavy toll of both mounts and men; of the Commot warriors, one out of three had fallen beneath the swords of the deathless foe; and of the steeds, more than half. Lluagor galloped empty-saddled. Eilonwy and Gurgi were among neither the slain nor the living.

Desperate now, Taran made ready to search through the farther hills. But Fflewddur, his face grave and filled with concern, took Taran's arm and drew him back.

"Alone, you can't hope to find them," warned the bard. "Neither can you spare time nor men for a search party. If we're to stop those foul brutes before they reach the Fallows, we shall have to move with all speed. Your Commot friends are ready to march."

"You and Llassar must lead them," Taran replied. "Once Eilonwy and Gurgi are found, we'll join you somehow. Go quickly. We shall meet soon again."

The bard shook his head. "If that's your command, so be it. But, as I have heard it, Taran Wanderer it was who called the Commot folk to his banner, and for the sake of Taran Wanderer they answered. They followed where you led. For none other would they have done as much."

"What, then," Taran cried, "would you have me leave Eilonwy and Gurgi in danger?"

"It is a heavy choice," Fflewddur said. "Alas, none can lighten it for you."

Taran did not reply. Fflewddur's words grieved him all the more because of their truth. Hevydd and Llassar had asked no more than to fight at his side. Llonio had given his life at Caer Dathyl. There was no Commot warrior who had not lost kinsman or comrade. If he left them to seek Eilonwy, would she herself deem his choice good? The horsemen awaited his orders. Melynlas impatiently pawed the ground.

"If Eilonwy and Gurgi are slain," Taran said in an anguished voice, "they are beyond my help. If they live, I must hope and trust they will find their way to us." He swung heavily into the saddle. "If they live," he murmured.

Without daring a backward glance at the silent, empty hills, he rode toward the war band.

By the time the Commot men were on the march again, the Cauldron-Born had well outdistanced them and were moving without delay to the foothills of Bran-Galedd. Even at their fastest pace, halting only for moments of fitful rest, the Commot riders regained little of the precious time that had been lost.

Each day Taran strained his eyes for a sign of Eilonwy and Gurgi, hoping against hope that the Princess would find some means of reaching the war band again. But the two companions had vanished, and Fflewddur's desperate cheerfulness and assurance that both would appear from one moment to the next rang false and hollow.

At midmorning on the third day of their march an outrider galloped in with tidings of strange movements in the pine forest at the column's flank. Taran halted his warriors, hastily ordering them to stand ready for combat, then rode with Fflewddur to see for himself. Through the trees a little below him he could make out no more than a vague stirring, as if shadows of branches flickered across the drifts. But in another instant the bard shouted excitedly and Taran quickly sounded his horn.

From the woods tramped a long procession of short, stocky figures. Garbed in white cloaks and hoods, they were all but invisible against the snow, and not until they had begun to move across a bare stretch of rocky ground could Taran distinguish one marcher from the next. Their stout leather boots, laced and bound with thongs, barely showed below their cloaks, and looked like nothing so much as rapidly moving tree stumps. The shapes that bulked on their shoulders or at their waists were, Taran guessed, weapons or sacks of provisions.

"Great Belin!" cried Fflewddur. "If that's who I think it is..."

Taran had already dismounted and was racing down the slope, waving at the bard to follow him. At the head of the band, which seemed to number well over a hundred, trudged a familiar, stumpy figure. Though he, too, was heavily muffled in white, his crimson hair flamed out beyond the fringe of his hood. In one hand he carried a short, heavy-bladed axe, and in the other, a thick staff. He had caught sight of Taran and Fflewddur and strode to meet them.

In another instant the bard and Taran were clasping his hands, pummeling his burly shoulders, and shouting so many greetings and questions that the new arrival clapped his hands to his head.

"Doli!" Taran cried. "Good old Doli!"

"I heard you clearly the first few times," the dwarf snorted. "If I ever doubted you recognized me, you've fully convinced me that you do." He put his hands on his hips and looked up sharply, trying, as always, to appear as gruff as he could. Despite himself his bright red eyes flashed with pleasure and his features broke into a grin, which he tried, without success, to change to his usual scowl.

"You've led us a chase," Doli declared, motioning the warriors to follow Taran up the slope. "We had word you'd gone into the hills, but saw nothing of you until today."

"Doli!" Taran exclaimed, still amazed at the unexpected sight of this long-absent companion. "What good luck brings you to us?"

"Good luck?" grumbled Doli. "Do you call tramping day and night in snow and wind good luck? All of us Fair Folk are abroad, one place or another--- Orders of King Eiddileg. Mine were to find you and put myself at your service. No offense, but I could guess that if anybody in Prydain needed help it would turn out to be you. So, here we are."

"Gwystyl has done his work well," Taran said. "We knew he was journeying to your realm, but we feared King Eiddileg might not heed him."

"I can't say he was overjoyed," Doli, answered. "In fact, he nearly burst. I was there when our gloomy friend brought word of your plight and I thought my ears would split with Eiddileg's bellowing. Great gawks! Lumbering oafs! Giant clodpoles! All his usual opinions about humans. But he agreed willingly enough despite his bluster. He's really fond of you, no matter what he says. Above all, he remembers how you saved the Fair Folk from being turned into frogs, moles, and whatever. It was the greatest service any mortal ever did for us, and Eiddileg means to repay the debt.

"Yes, the Fair Folk are on the march," Doli continued. "Alas, we came too late to Caer Dathyl. But King Smoit has cause to thank us. There's a host of Fair Folk fighting side by side with him. The northern lords are ready for battle, and we'll take a hand in that, too, you can be sure."

Doli, for all his gruffness, was obviously proud of his own tidings. He had finished, with great relish, an account of one fray in which the Fair Folk had baffled the enemy by making an entire valley so resound with echoes that the foe fled in terror, believing themselves surrounded, and had begun another tale of Fair Folk valor, when he stopped abruptly, seeing the look of concern on Taran's face. Doli listened while Taran told what had befallen the other companions, and, it was the dwarf's turn to be grave and thoughtful. When Taran finished, Doli did not reply for a time.

"As for Eilonwy and Gurgi," the dwarf said at last, "I agree with Fflewddur. They'll manage, somehow. And if I know the Princess, I wouldn't be surprised to see her galloping up at the head of her own army.

"With the Cauldron-Born, we're all in bad straits," Doli continued. "Even we Fair Folk can do little against such creatures. All the tricks that would gull a common mortal are useless. The Cauldron-Born aren't human--- I should say they're less than human. They've no memory of what they were, no fear, no hope--- nothing can touch them." The dwarf shook his head. "And I see that any victory we might gain elsewhere would be wasted unless we find some way to deal with that spawn of Annuvin. Gwydion is quite right. If they aren't stopped--- well, my friends, among us we'll have to do it, and that's flat."

By this time the Fair Folk band had reached Taran's lines and a murmur of wonder spread through the ranks of the Commot men. All had heard of the skill and prowess of King Eiddileg's fighting forces, but none had seen them face to face. Hevydd the Smith marveled at their axes and short swords, pronouncing them sharper and better tempered than any he could make. For their own part, the Fair Folk seemed not the least uneasy; the tallest of Eiddileg's warriors stood barely higher than Lassar's knee, but the Fair Folk soldiers looked on their human comrades with the friendly indulgence they might show to overgrown children.

Doli patted Llyan's head and the huge animal purred happily in recognition. The sight of Glew, hunched on a rock and staring sourly at the new arrivals, brought a cry of surprise from the crimson-haired dwarf. "Whoever--- or whatever--- is that? It's too big for a toadstool and too small for anything else!"

"I'm glad you asked," replied Glew. "It's a tale I'm sure you will find most interesting. I was once a giant, and my present unhappy state comes, no more and no less, from a complete lack of concern from those---" he looked dourly at Taran and the bard "---who might have been expected to show at least a small amount of consideration. My kingdom--- yes, I would appreciate it if you addressed me as King Glew--- was the finest cavern, with the finest bats, on the Isle of Mona. A cavern so vast..."

Fflewddur clapped his hands to his ears. "Leave off, giant! Enough! We've no time for your prattle about caverns and bats. We know you've been ill-used. You've told us so yourself. Believe me, a Fflam is patient, but if I could find a cavern I'd pop you into it and leave you there."

Doli's face had turned deeply thoughtful. "Caverns," the dwarf muttered. He snapped his fingers. "Caverns! Hear me well," he said quickly. "No more than a day's march from here--- yes, I'm sure of it--- there's a Fair Folk mine. The best gems and precious stones are gone, and Eiddileg's had no one working there as long as I can remember. But I think we can get into it. Of course! If we follow the main shaft it should bring us out almost at the edge of the Red Fallows. You'll catch up with the Cauldron-Born in no time at all. With all our warriors together we'll stop them one way or another. How, I don't know. That doesn't matter for the moment. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Doli grinned broadly. "My friends, you're with Fair Folk now. When we do something, it's done right. The first half of your worries are over. The second half," he added, "might be something else again.

For the first time since leaving Caer Dallben, Glew appeared in good spirits. The idea of anything resembling a cavern seemed to cheer him, although the result of his improved temper was a further spate of rambling tales about his own feats as a giant. However, after a hard day and night of marching, when Doli halted at the sheer face of a high cliff, the former giant began glancing about fearfully. His nose twitched and his eyes blinked in dismay. The entrance to the ancient mine toward which the dwarf beckoned was no more than a fissure in the rock, barely wide enough for the horses, overhung with icicles glistening like sharp teeth.

"No, no," stammered Glew. "This doesn't compare with my realm on Mona. Not half the size. No, you can't expect me to go stumbling around a shabby den like this."

He would have drawn back had not Fflewddur taken him by the collar and dragged him along.

"Have done, giant!" cried the bard. "In you go with the rest of us." But Fflewddur himself seemed none too eager to lead Llyan through the rocky crevice. "A Fflam is valiant," he murmured, "but I've never been fond of underground passages and all such. No luck with them. Mark my words, we'll be grubbing like moles before we're through."

At the mouth of the cavern Taran halted. Beyond this point there was no hope of finding Eilonwy. Once more he battled the wish of his heart to seek her again before she would be forever lost to him. With all his strength he fought to wrench these thoughts from his mind. But when at last he ruthlessly forced himself to follow the bard, it was as though he had left all of himself behind. He stumbled blindly into the darkness.

At Doli's orders the warriors had fashioned torches. These they now lit, and in the flickering light Taran saw the dwarf had brought them into a shaft that dipped gradually downward. Its walls of living rock rose no higher than Taran's upraised hands. Dismounted, the Commot men led their fearful horses past sharp outcroppings and over broken stones.

This, Doli explained, was not the mine itself, but only one of many side-tunnels the Fair Folk had used when carrying sacks of gems above ground. Indeed, as the dwarf foretold, the passageway soon grew much wider and the rocky ceiling soared three times Taran's height. Narrow platforms of wood, one above the other, followed the walls on either side, though many had fallen into disrepair and the beams had tumbled in a heap over the earthen floor. Lengths of half-rotted timbers shored up the archways leading from one gallery to the next, but of these some had partly crumbled, forcing warriors and steeds to pick their way most cautiously over or around the piles of rubble. The air was stifling after the icy wind above ground, and hung heavy with ancient dust and decay. Echoes flitted like bats through the long-abandoned chambers as the war band moved in a wavering file, with torches raised high above their heads. The twisting shadows seemed to muffle the sound of their footsteps; only the piercing whinny of a frightened steed broke the silence.

Glew, who had not left off his complaining since entering the mine, gave a sharp cry of surprise. He stooped and snatched something from the ground. In the flare of his torch, Taran saw the former giant held a glittering gem as big as a fist.

Fflewddur had seen it, too, and he sternly ordered, "Put that down, little man. This is a Fair Folk trove, not that bat-ridden cave of yours."

Glew clutched his find to his chest. "It's mine!" he squealed. "None of you saw it. If you had, you'd have kept it for yourselves."

Doli, who had glanced at the gem, snorted scornfully. "It's rubbish," the dwarf said to Taran. "No Fair Folk craftsman would waste his time on it. We use better quality than that to mend a roadbed. If your mushroom-faced friend wants to burden himself, he's more than welcome."

Without waiting to be told twice, Glew hastily thrust the gem into the leather pouch dangling at his side, and his flabby features took on an expression Taran had seen only when the former giant was in the midst of a meal.

From then on, as the companions progressed steadily through the mine, Glew's beady eyes darted everywhere and he strode forward with unwonted energy and interest. The former giant was not disappointed, for soon the torchlight glinted on other gems half-buried in the ground or protruding from walls. Glew fell upon them instantly, scrabbling away with his pudgy fingers and popping the glittering crystals into his sack. With each new find he grew more excited, giggling and mumbling to himself.

The bard looked pityingly at him. "Well," he sighed, "the little weasel has at last sniffed out something to profit himself. Much good it may do him once we're above ground again. A handful of rocks! The only use I can see is if he throws them at the Cauldron-Born."

But Glew, absorbed in gathering as many gems as quickly as he could, paid no heed to Fflewddur's remarks. In little time the former giant's pouch was crammed with jewels of bright red and brilliant green, with gems clear as water or, in their glittering depths, flecked with gold and silver.

Taran's thoughts were not on the abandoned riches of the mine, although the jewels seemed to grow more plentiful as the long column of warriors made their way farther into the tunnel. As far as Taran could judge, it was no later than midday, and already the companions had journeyed a considerable distance. And, as the tunnel widened and the path straightened, their pace gained even more speed.

"Easy as whistling," declared Doli. "Another day and a half at most and we'll come above ground at the Fallows."

"It's our only hope," Taran said, "and, thanks to you, the best hope we've had. But the Fallows trouble me. If the land is barren we'll have little protection for ourselves, and little means to hinder the Cauldron-Born."

"Humph!" cried Doli. "As I told you, you're dealing with Fair Folk now, my lad. When we set to a task there's nothing paltry or small about it. You'll see. Something will come to hand."

"Speaking of paltry and small," interrupted Fflewddur, "where is Glew?"

Taran halted and quickly looked around. At first he saw nothing of the former giant. He lifted his torch and called Glew's name. A moment later he caught sight of him and ran forward in alarm.

Glew, in his search for treasure, had clambered up to one of the wooden platforms. Just above the arch leading to the next chamber a sparkling gem as big as his own head was embedded amid the rocks; Glew, having swung precariously to a narrow ledge, was trying with all his might to dislodge it.

Taran cried out to him to come down, but Glew tugged and heaved all the harder. Dropping the reins of Melynlas, Taran was about to swing up after him, but Doli seized his arm.

"Don't do it!" snapped the dwarf. "The beams won't hold you." He whistled through his teeth and signaled two of the Fair Folk warriors to climb to the platform which, under Glew's furious struggle with the gem, had begun to sway dangerously. "Hurry!" Doli shouted. "Bring that idiot down here!"

Just then Glew's pouch, already filled to bursting, tore apart. The gems streamed down in a glittering shower and Glew, with a yell of dismay, spun around to clutch at them. His foothold slipped, he clawed frantically at the platform and as he did so the arch gave way beneath him. Now shrieking not for his lost jewels but for his life, Glew flailed wildly and caught one of the swaying timbers. With a crash he toppled to earth. Behind him the archway lurched, the ceiling rumbled. Glew picked himself up and scuttled madly from the hail of falling stones.

"Back!" Doli shouted. "Back! All of you!"

The horses reared and whinnied as the warriors strove to turn them. With an earsplitting crack, the upper platforms collapsed, an avalanche of boulders and broken beams thundered into the gallery. Blinding, choking dust filled the tunnel, the mine seemed to shudder all along its length, then settle into deathly silence.

Shouting for Doli and Fflewddur, Taran stumbled to the heap of wreckage. None of the warriors or animals had been caught in it; behind them, the tunnel had held firm and kept them safe. But the way forward was hopelessly blocked.

Doli had scrambled onto the heap of stones and wood and was tugging at the end of a long beam But after a moment he stopped, breathless, and turned a despairing face to Taran. "It's no good," he gasped. "If you want to keep on we'll have to dig our way through."

"How long?" Taran asked urgently. "How much time dare we lose?"

Doli shook his head. "Hard to say. Even with Fair Folk it will be a long task. Days, very likely. Who knows how far the damage has gone?" He snorted angrily. "You can thank that half-witted, undersized, two-legged toadstool of a giant for it!"

Taran's heart sank. "What then?" he asked. "Must we retrace our steps?" From the expression on Doli's grimy face, he feared what the dwarf's answer would be.

Doli nodded curtly. "We're badly delayed, no matter what. But if you want my advice, I say turn around and go back. Make our way to the Fallows above ground as best we can. The whole mine is weakened now; there'll be more cave-ins, or I'll miss my guess. Next time we may not be so lucky."

"Lucky!" moaned the bard, who had slumped down on a rock. He put his head in his hands. "Days wasted! The Cauldron-Born will be in Annuvin before we have another chance at them. The only luck that would suit me now would be to see that greedy weasel under a pile of his own worthless gems!"

Glew, meanwhile, had ventured to crawl from under one of the remaining platforms. His garments were torn, his pudgy face smeared with dust.

"Days wasted?" he wailed. "Cauldron-Born? Blocked up tunnels? But has any one of you stopped to consider I've just lost a fortune? My gems are gone, all of them, and you don't give it a second thought. I call that selfish. Selfish! There's no other word for it."

Chapter 14

Daylight

THE PRINCESS EILONWY was doubly angry. First, she was lost; second, she was a prisoner. Swept away from Taran and Fflewddur during the attack, she would surely have fallen among the slain had not Gurgi dragged her from the fray. When the assault had shifted beyond them, she had stumbled blindly, with Gurgi at her side, over the darkening crags. At nightfall, when they could search no longer for Taran, Gurgi had found a shallow cave where they crouched and shivered until first light. During the next day, as the two companions sought Taran's trail, the marauders had suddenly leaped upon them.

Biting, kicking, and scratching, Eilonwy struggled vainly to free herself from the burly man who had seized her. Another had flung Gurgi to the ground and, with dagger drawn, set his knee in the small of the hapless creature's back. In a trice the two companions were bound hand and foot and hoisted like mealsacks on their assailants' shoulders. Eilonwy had no idea of the direction in which she was being carried, but in a little while she glimpsed a campfire flickering through the gathering dusk and hunched around it a ruffianly band of a dozen or more.

The man squatting nearest the fire looked up. Garbed in dirty sheepskins and a rough cloak, he was heavy-faced and stubble-bearded, his long hair yellowish and tangled.

"I sent you for game, not prisoners," he called out hoarsely. "What have you found?"

"Lean pickings," answered Eilonwy's captor, dropping his furious burden to the turf beside Gurgi. "A brace of churls, for what they may be worth."

"Nothing, very likely." The heavy-faced man spat in the fire. "You should have slit their gullets and spared yourself the burden." He climbed to his feet and strode to the companions. With a grimy, broken-nailed hand he seized Eilonwy by the throat as if he meant to throttle her. "Who are you, boy?" he demanded in a grating voice. His cold blue eyes narrowed. "Who do you serve? What ransom will you bring? Answer quickly when Dorath asks a question."

At the sound of the name Eilonwy caught her breath. Taran had spoken of Dorath. From Gurgi's terrified whimpering she judged he, too, had recognized the outlaw.

"Answer!" Dorath cried with a curse. He struck Eilonwy across the face. The girl stumbled and fell, her head singing from the blow. The golden sphere dropped from her jacket. Eilonwy strained at her bonds and tried to fling herself on top of the bauble. A booted foot kicked it from her. Dorath bent and snatched up the sphere, turning it curiously in the firelight.

"What is it?" questioned one of the ruffians, pressing closer to gape at the bauble.

"Gold it is," said another. "Come, Dorath, chop the thing apart and share it out."

"Hands off, you swine," Dorath growled. He thrust the bauble into his sheepskin. Mutters of protest rose from the band, but Dorath silenced them with a glance. He bent down to Eilonwy. "Where did you steal such a trinket, you young thief. Will you keep your head on your shoulders? Then tell me where we can find more treasure like this."

Eilonwy, though furious, kept silent.

Dorath grinned. "You will speak soon enough," he said, "and only wish you had spoken earlier. First, let me see if your fellow has a tongue looser than yours."

Gurgi, teeth chattering violently, had sunk his head deep into his sheepskin coat and tightly hunched his shoulders.

"Do you play turtle with me?" Dorath cried with a harsh laugh. He knotted his thick fingers in Gurgi's hair and jerked the creature's head upright. "Small wonder you hide your face! It's ugly as ever I've seen!"

Dorath stopped suddenly and squinted closer. "Ugly it is, and not one easily forgotten. So ho! We are old friends, you and I. You share my hospitality once more! When last we met, you were comrade to a pig-keeper." He turned his glance on Eilonwy. "But this is not the swineherd."

Dorath gripped Eilonwy's face and roughly turned it from side to side. "This beardless boy..." He grunted in surprise. "What, then? Boy? No boy at all! A wench!"

Eilonwy could no longer contain herself. "Wench indeed! I'm Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad Daughter of Regat Princess of Llyr. I don't like being tied up, I don't like being smacked. I don't like being pawed, and I'll thank you to stop doing all of that immediately!" Despite her bonds she kicked vigorously at the outlaw.

Dorath laughed and drew back a pace. "My memory is that the Lord Swineherd spoke once of you." He gave a mocking bow. "Welcome, Princess Vixen. You are a choicer prize than any ransom. A long score lies between Dorath and your pig-keeper. You give me and my company the pleasure of settling a little of it."

"I'll give you the pleasure of setting Gurgi and me loose this very instant," Eilonwy flung at him. "And I shall have my bauble again."

Dorath's face had grown mottled. "You shall go free," he said between his teeth, "after a time, my pretty Princess, after a time. When you shall be fitting company for pig-keepers, perhaps you may join the swineherd again. Perhaps he will even recognize your charms, whatever may be left of them."

"Have you considered what will be left of you when Taran finds you?" Eilonwy retorted. Until now the Princess of Llyr had kept her self-possession. But she could sense the outlaw's thoughts behind his cold eyes and for the first time she was deeply afraid.

"Lord Swineherd and I will finish our reckoning when the time comes," Dorath replied. Grinning, he bent toward her. But your time is now."

Gurgi thrashed wildly in his bonds. "Do not harm wise and kindly Princess!" he shouted. "Oh, Gurgi will make you pay for hurtful wickedness!" He flung himself against Dorath and tried to sink his teeth into the outlaw's leg.

Cursing, Dorath turned on Gurgi and snatched out his sword. Eilonwy cried aloud.

            But before the outlaw could begin his downward stroke a long shape sprang suddenly from the overhanging rocks. Dorath give a stifled shout. His weapon fell from his hand and he toppled backward, the furry shadow snarling and tearing at his throat. At the campfire the other outlaws leaped to their feet and screamed in terror. Gray shadows were all about, closing swiftly on them. Vainly the marauders sought to flee, but on all sides they were flung back, borne to the ground by the force of lean bodies and slashing fangs.

Gurgi began yelling fearfully. "Help, oh help! Oh, evil spirits come to slay us all!"

Eilonwy forced herself upright. Behind her she could feel something sharp gnawing and worrying at her bonds. In another moment her hands were free. She stumbled forward while the gray shadow tore away the thongs holding her feet. In front of her lay the motionless body of Dorath. Quickly Eilonwy knelt and drew the bauble from the outlaw's sheepskin jacket. From her cupped hand the sphere shed golden rays on a huge wolf crouching before her. By the campfire she glimpsed other wolves, withdrawing as swiftly as they had come. Behind them all was silent. Eilonwy shuddered and looked away. The wolves had done their work well.

Gurgi had been freed by a gray she-wolf with a white blaze on her breast and, pleased though he was to be out of the warriors' clutches, he wrinkled his forehead and cast a distrustful glance at his rescuer. The wolf Briavael blinked her yellow eyes and grinned at him. Gurgi, nevertheless, chose to keep his distance.

For her own part, Eilonwy surprisingly felt no fear or uneasiness. The wolf Brynach sat on his haunches, watching her closely. Eilonwy put her hand on the animal's shaggy, muscular neck.

"I hope you know we're trying to thank you," she said, "though I'm not sure whether you understand or not. The only wolves I ever met personally lived far from here in Medwyn's valley."

At this Brynach whined and wagged his tail.

"Well, you do understand that," said Eilonwy. "Medwyn..." She hesitated. "There were two wolves..." She clapped her hands. "It must be! I don't mean to say I can tell one wolf from another, at least not at first glance. But there's something about you that reminds me... In any case, if that's who you are, we're very glad to see you again. We're obliged to you and now we'll be on our way. Though I'm not exactly sure which way our way is, if you see what I mean."

Brynach grinned and showed no sign of leaving. Instead, he remained on his haunches, opened his jaws, and gave a high pitched bark.

Eilonwy sighed and shook her head. "We're lost and trying to find our companions, but I haven't any idea how to say Assistant Pig-Keeper in wolf speech."

Gurgi, meantime, had picked up his wallet of food and slung it over his shoulder. At last seeing the wolves meant him no harm, he drew a little closer to Brynach and Briavael and looked at them with great interest, while they studied him no less curiously.

Eilonwy turned to Gurgi. "I'm sure they're willing to help us. Oh, if I could only understand them! What good is it being half an enchantress if you can't even tell what a wolf is trying to say to you?" Eilonwy stopped short. "But--- but I think I did understand! I must have! There, one of them just said 'Tell us!' I could hear--- no, not hear; I could feel it!"

She looked at Gurgi in amazement. "It's not words at all. It's like listening without your ears or hearing with your heart. I know it, but I can't imagine how I do. And yet," she added wonderingly, "that's what Taliesin told me."

"Oh, great wisdoml" Gurgi cried. "Oh, clever listenings! Gurgi listens, too, but inside hears only rumblings and grumblings when his poor belly is empty! Oh, sorrow! Gurgi will never hear deep secret things like Princess."

Eilonwy had dropped to her knees beside Brynach. Hurriedly she spoke of Taran, of all the companions and what had befallen them. Brynach pricked up his ears and barked sharply. The huge wolf rose from his haunches, shook the snow from his shaggy coat, and with his teeth gently plucked at Eilonwy's sleeve.

"He says we're to follow them," Eilonwy told Gurgi. "Come, we're in safe hands now. Or, should I say paws?"

The wolves padded silently and swiftly, following hidden trails and passages whose existence the girl would have never guessed. The two companions strove to keep up with Brynach's rapid pace; yet often, despite themselves, they were forced to halt and rest. At those times the wolves seemed satisfied to wait patiently until the companions were ready to journey once again. Brynach crouched at Eilonwy's side, his gray head between his paws, seldom drowsing, his ears alert and moving at every faint sound. Briavael, too, served as sentinel and guide, springing lightly to the rocky peaks, sniffing the air; then, with a gesture of her head, beckoning the companions to follow.

Of the rest of the pack Eilonwy saw little. Now and then, however, she would awaken from a brief slumber to find the wolves sitting in a protective circle about her. Soon the lean gray animals would vanish into the shadows while Brynach and Briavael alone remained. The girl shortly became aware the wolves were not the only creatures in the Hills of Bran-Galedd. Once she glimpsed a large company of bears lumbering in single file along a ridge. They halted a moment, peered curiously, then resumed their march. In the cold, clear air she heard the barking of foxes in the distance and other sounds which might have been echoes or answers to some unknown signal.

"They're scouting all through the hills," Eilonwy whispered to Gurgi, pointing to a bare summit where a tall stag had suddenly appeared. "I wonder how many other bands of outlaws are roaming around. If the bears and wolves have anything to say about it, I somehow don't think there's very many."

The wolf Brynach glanced at her, as though he had overhead Eilonwy's words. He lolled out his tongue and blinked his yellow eyes. Around the sharp rows of gleaming teeth his lips turned slightly in an unmistakable smile.

They continued on their path. At nightfall Eilonwy lit her bauble and held it aloft. The full wolf pack, she saw, had joined them once again, moving in long files on either side of her, just beyond the circle of golden light. The bears, too, were following, and other forest creatures whose presence she sensed rather than saw.

There were, in the Hills of Bran-Galedd, many places of danger and death. Of these, the Princess of Llyr was unaware, for she and Gurgi passed them by unharmed, safe amid the watchful band of silent guardians.

LATE IN THE MORNING of the next day Briavael, who had spent most of her time scouting the passages ahead, grew excited and eager. The she-wolf barked and leaped atop high standing rocks where she faced westward, wagging her tail briskly and urging the companions to greater speed.

"I think they've found Taran!" Eilonwy cried. "I can't quite make out what they're saying, but it sounds very much as if they have. Men and horses! A mountain cat--- that must be Llyan! But what are they all doing in this direction? Are they going to the Red Fallows again?"

Neither Eilonwy nor Gurgi could check their impatience to join the companions once more; they refused to halt for food or rest and Brynach frequently had to fasten his teeth in Eilonwy's cloak to keep the girl from taking needless risks among the ever-steepening hills. Soon the travelers reached the rim of a deep mountain cup, and a cry of joy burst from Eilonwy's lips.

"I see them! I see them!" She hastily pointed downward, into the wide valley. Gurgi had run up beside her and began to leap with excitement.

"Oh, it is kindly master!" he shouted. "Oh, yes, and brave bard! No bigger than ants, but sharp-eyed Gurgi sees them!"

Only by straining her eyes could Eilonwy distinguish the tiny figures, so distant were they. The long descent into the valley, she knew, would take the rest of the day, and she was anxious to reach the companions before nightfall. She was about to scramble down the cliff when she stopped suddenly.

"What can they be doing?" she cried. "They're going straight into that wall of rock. Is it a cave?

Look, there's the last horseman. Now I can't see any of them. If it's a cave, it must be the biggest one in Prydain! I don't understand a bit of it. Is there a passage of some kind? Or a tunnel? Oh, that's vexing! You might know an Assistant Pig-Keeper would take it into his head to vanish the moment he's been found!"

Hurriedly, Eilonwy began picking her way down the steep slope. For all her haste the descent seemed endless. Even with the help of Brynach and, Briavael the two had gone little more than half the distance by the time the sun had dropped westward and the shadows had begun to lengthen. Brynach suddenly halted and growled deeply in his throat. His hackles rose and he bared his teeth. The eyes of the wolf were fixed on the valley, and his muzzle twitched uneasily. In another moment, Eilonwy saw what had made Brynach stop. A long column of warriors had appeared and was moving rapidly westward.

Briavael whined shrilly. From the voice of the she-wolf, Eilonwy sensed fear and hatred. She understood the reason.

"Huntsmen!" the girl cried. "It looks like hundreds of them on the way back to Annuvin. Oh, I hope they don't see Taran's tracks, though he's very likely safe enough where he is."

No sooner had she said this than a movement at the distant wall of rock made her clap a hand to her mouth. From the deepening shadows she saw, one by one, the tiny figures of Taran and his band reappear.

"No!" Eilonwy gasped. "They're coming out again!"

From her vantage point; the girl could scan the valley, and it was suddenly, coldly clear to her that the Commot warriors and the Huntsmen, as yet unseen by one another, were moving closer together.

"They'll be trapped!" Eilonwy cried. "Taran! Taran!"

The echoes died in the vast, snowy expanse. Taran could neither see nor hear her. Darkness had now fallen over the valley, blinding the girl to the inevitable clash of the warrior bands. It was a nightmare in which all action was useless, in which she could only wait for the slaughter bound to come. She felt as though her hands were tied and her voice stifled.

Still calling Taran's name, Eilonwy snatched the bauble from her cloak. She lifted the sphere high. Brighter and brighter it glowed. The wolves turned, away fearfully and Gurgi threw his arms over his face. The beams spread and rose toward the clouds, as though the sun itself were bursting from the mountainside. The dark cliffs and black branches of the trees were drenched in light, brilliant and clear. The whole valley had turned bright as noon.

Chapter 15

The River of Ice

UNDER THE SUDDEN OUTPOURING of golden light, the Huntsmen shouted in alarm and a wave of fear rippled along the marching column as they faltered and fell back into the protection of a deep gorge. Instantly Taran realized how closely he had come to leading the Commot horsemen into a fatal trap, but a cry of joy sprang from his lips.

"Eilonwy!"

He would have urged Melynlas across the valley to the mountainside had not Fflewddur put out a restraining hand.

"Hold, hold," cried the bard. "She's found us, right enough. Great Belin, there's no mistaking the light from that girl's bauble! She's saved out lives with it. Gurgi's sure to be with her, too; but if you go galloping after them, none of you will get back. We've seen the Huntsmen, and they could hardly help seeing us."

Doli had clambered atop a boulder and stood peering after the retreating Huntsmen. Eilonwy's signal winked out as quickly as it had appeared, and in another moment the winter darkness, fell once more over the valley.

"A fine plight!" growled the dwarf. "Of all times to be caught above ground! The mine is useless to us, and there's no other passage within a week's march. Even if there were, we couldn't reach it with an army of Huntsmen blocking the way."

Fflewddur had drawn his sword. "I say attack! Those foul villains had a good scare. They'll have no stomach for a fight now. We'll set upon them without warning. Great Belin, that's something they won't expect!"

Doli snorted at him. "You've left your wits in the mineshaft! Set upon the Huntsmen? Slay one and make the others that much stronger? Even Fair Folk would think twice about attacking those ruffians. No, my friend, it won't answer."

"When I was a giant," put in Glew, "it would have been a simple matter for me to put them all to flight. However, through no fault of my own, times have changed, and I can hardly say they've changed for the better. On Mona, for example, one day I had decided something really had to be done about those impudent bats. It's an interesting tale..."

"Silence, you puny thing," commanded the bard. "You've said enough and done enough."

"That's right, lay all the blame on me," sniffed Glew. "It's my fault Gwydion's sword was stolen, my fault the Cauldron-Born escaped, my fault every other disagreeable thing has happened."

The bard did not deign to answer the former giant's whining outburst. Taran, having ordered the Commot warriors into the relative safety of the tunnel mouth, returned and stood beside the companions.

"I fear Doli is right," Taran said. "By attacking the Huntsmen we can only destroy ourselves. Our strength is slight enough as it is, and we dare not waste it. We have been long delayed, and already may be too late to aid Gwydion. No, we must find some means to make our way despite the Huntsmen."

Doli shook his head. "Still won't answer. They know we're here; they'll know if we try to move. All they need to do is track us. For the matter of that, I'll be surprised if we're not attacked before dawn. Look to your skins, my friends. It may be the last time you'll see them whole."

"Doli," Taran said urgently, "you're the only one who can help us now. Will you spy out the Huntsmen's camp? Learn all you can of their plans. I know how you feel about turning yourself invisible, but..."

"Invisible!" shouted the dwarf, clapping a hand to his head. "I knew it would come to that sooner or later. It always does! Good old Doli! Turn invisible! I'm not sure I can do it any more, I've tried to forget how. It hurts my ears. I'd sooner have my head stuffed with hornets and wasps. No, no, out of the question. Ask anything else you like, but not that."

"Good old Doli," Taran said. "I was sure you'd do it."

After a further show of reluctance, which deceived no one, except perhaps Doli himself, the crimson-haired dwarf consented to do as Taran had asked. Doli wrinkled his eyes shut, took a deep breath, as though making ready to plunge into icy water, and flickered out of sight. Had it not been for a stifled sound of irritable grumbling, Taran would not have believed Doli to be there at all. Only the faint click of pebbles stirred by unseen feet told Taran that the dwarf had moved from the tunnel toward the enemy lines.

At Doli's orders the Fair Folk troop took guard posts in a wide half-circle beyond the tunnel's mouth, where their sharp eyes and ears could catch any threatening movement or sound. Taran was amazed at how still these warriors remained, silent and nearly as invisible as Doli. Their white garb made them seem no more than ice-covered stones or frosted hummocks under the moon, which had now begun to drift from behind the clouds. The horsemen drowsed among their steeds for warmth. Glew curled up nearby. Just within the tunnel Fflewddur sat with his back against the wall of rock, one hand on his harp, the other resting on the huge head of Llyan, who had stretched out beside him and was gently purring.

Mufed in his cloak, Taran gazed once more in wonder at the mountainside where first had appeared Eilonwy's signal light. "She is alive," he murmured to himself. "Alive," he whispered again and again, and his heart leaped each time he spoke the words. Gurgi would be with her, of this he was somehow sure. All his senses told him both companions had survived. Over the chill air came the baying of a wolf. There were other sounds, as of distant shouting, but they soon faded, and he gave them no thought, filled as he was with his new-found hope.

Half the night had worn away when Doli flickered back into sight. The dwarf, too excited to complain of his buzzing ears, hurriedly beckoned Taran and Fflewddur to follow him. Ordering the horsemen to stand alert, Taran hastened after the companions. The Fair Folk warriors were already jogtrotting behind Doli, silent as white shadows.

Taran at first thought the dwarf meant to lead them directly to the Huntsmen's camp; instead Doli turned off a little distance before it and began scrambling up a slope rising high above the gorge.

"The Huntsmen are still there," Doli muttered under his breath as they climbed. "No wish of their own. We have some friends we didn't know about--- bears and wolves, dozens of them, all along the rim of the gorge. A band of Huntsmen tried to climb out. Good thing they couldn't see me or I wouldn't be here. But they were seen. The bears got to them first. Quick work they made of those villains. Bloody work, but quick."

"They slew a party of Huntsmen?" Taran frowned. "Now the others are even stronger."

"Be that as it may," replied Doli. "The bears and wolves can attend to them better than we can. I doubt the Huntsmen will attack tonight. They fear the animals. They'll stay in the gorge until morning.

And that's where I want them. I think I've struck on something."

By this time they had reached the summit and had come to the rim of an ice-bound lake. At the sheer drop over the edge of the bluff, a frozen waterfall glittered under the moon; like fingers on a huge fist, vast icicles clawed at the steep slope, as though holding the lake in its frigid grip. A river of hard silver twisted downward toward the gorge where the Huntsmen were sheltering. Taran glimpsed their campfires glowing like baleful eyes in the darkness. Though he could not be sure, it seemed to him that shadowy shapes stirred among the rocks and stunted brush of the higher ground; perhaps the bears and wolves of which the dwarf had spoken.

"There!" Doli said, "what do you think of that?"

"What do I think?" cried the bard. "My old friend, I think you're the one who left your wits in the mine. You've led us on a good climb, but I should hardly call this a moment to admire the beauties of nature."

The dwarf put his hands on his hips and looked at Fflewddur with exasperation. "Sometimes I think Eiddileg's right about you humans. Can't you see past your nose? Can't you see at all? We're nearly atop those ruffians. Free the lake! Free the waterfall! Let it go pouring down! Straight into the camp!"

Taran caught his breath. For a moment, his heart leaped hopefully. Then he shook his head. "The task is too great, Doli. The ice will defeat us.

"Then melt it!" shouted the dwarf. "Cut branches, bushes, all that will burn. Where the ice is too thick, chop it away! How many times must I tell you? You're dealing with Fair Folk!"

"Can it indeed be done?" Taran whispered.

"Would I have said it if I didn't think so?" the dwarf snapped.

Fflewddur gave a low whistle of admiration. "You think in large terms, old fellow. But it appeals to me. Great Belin, if we could pull it off we'd strike them all down at one blow! And rid ourselves of them once and for all!"

Doli was no longer listening to the bard, but was passing hasty orders to the Fair Folk warriors, who unslung their axes and, with all speed, began chopping and hacking at the trees, uprooting underbrush and racing with their burdens to the lake.

Casting his doubts aside, Taran drew his sword and hewed at the branches. Fflewddur toiled beside him. Despite the bitter cold air, their brows streamed; their panting breath hung in a white haze before their faces. At the frozen waterfall the axes of the Fair Folk rang upon the ice. Doli dashed among the warriors, adding to the pile of bushes and branches, dislodging rocks and boulders to form a straighter, swifter channel.

The night was waning quickly. Taran stumbled in exhaustion, his cold-numbed hands torn and bleeding. Fflewddur was barely able to keep his feet But the efforts of the Fair Folk never slackened. Before dawn the lake and the watercourse were piled high, as though a forest had overgrown them. Only then was Doli satisfied.

"Now, we'll set it alight," he cried to Taran. "Fair Folk tinder burns hotter than anything you humans know. It will blaze in no time." He whistled shrilly through his teeth. All along the lake the torches of the Fair Folk flamed, then arched like shooting stars as the warriors flung them into the pyre. Taran saw the first branches catch fire, then the rest. A fierce crackling filled his ears, and over it he heard Doli shouting for the companions to race clear of the blaze. A wave of heat like the breath of a furnace caught at Taran as he struggled for a foothold among the stones. The ice was melting. He heard the hiss of quenched flames. But the fire, too high to be altogether extinguished, raged even more hotly. From the watercourse came the crack and groan of boulders shifting under the growing pressure of the rising flood. In a moment, like a gate ripped from its hinges, like a wall collapsing, the side of the bluff gave way, and through the channel burst a sheet of water carrying all before it. Huge blocks of ice thundered down the slope, bounding and rolling as if they had been no more than pebbles. The swift outpouring bore with it the flaming branches; above the streaming mass, clouds of sparks billowed and swirled, and the watercourse blazed all along its length.

In the gorge below, the Huntsmen shouted and strove to flee. It was too late. The rushing waters and careening boulders flung back the warriors as they sought to scramble up the ravine. Screaming and cursing, they fell beneath the cascade or were tossed in the air like chips, to be dashed against the sharp rocks. A few gained higher ground, but as they did, Taran saw dark shapes spring to grapple with them, and now it was the turn of the waiting animals to take vengeance on those who had ever mercilessly hunted and slaughtered them.

Silence fell over the gorge. In the dawn light Taran saw the glint of the dark water that had flooded the ravine. Some of the branches still burned, others smouldered, and a gray mist of smoke hung in the air. A rattle of stones behind him made Taran spin about and snatch his blade from the scabbard.

"Hullo!" said Eilonwy. "We're back again!"

"YOU HAVE AN ODD WAY of welcoming people," Eilonwy went on, as Taran, his heart too full to speak, stared speechless at her. "You might at least say something."

While Gurgi, yelping joyfully, tried to greet everyone at once, Taran stepped quickly to Eilonwy's side, put his arms about her and drew the Princess close to him. "I had given up hope..."

"A silly thing to do," Eilonwy answered. "I never did. Though I admit having a few uneasy moments with that ruffian Dorath, and I could tell you tales you wouldn't believe about wolves and bears. I'll save them for later, when you can tell me all that's been happening to you. As for the Huntsmen," she continued, as the reunited companions made their way to the tunnel, "I saw the whole thing. At first I hadn't any idea what you were up to. Then I understood. It was wonderful. I should have known Doli had a hand in it. Good old Doli! It looked like a river of burning ice..." The Princess stopped suddenly and her eyes widened. "Do you realize what you've done?" she whispered. "Don't you see?"

"Know what we've done?" laughed Fflewddur. "Indeed we do! We've rid ourselves of the Huntsmen, and a good job it was. A Fflam couldn't have done better. As for what I see, I'm more pleased with what I can't see, if you take my meaning, namely, not a sign of those villains."

"Hen Wen's prophery!" Eilonwy cried. "Part of it's come true! Have all of you forgotten? Night turn to noon and rivers burn with frozen fire ere Dyrnwyn be regained. Well, you've burned a river, or so it seems to me. Frozen fire could just as well mean all that ice and flaming branches, couldn't it?"

Taran looked closely at the Princess. His hands trembled as the words of the prophecy echoed in his memory. "Have you seen what we ourselves did not see? But have you not done as much as we did? Without realizing it yourself? Think! 'Night turn to noon.' Your bauble made daylight of darkness!"

It was Eilonwy's turn to be surprised. "So it did!" she exclaimed.

"Yes, yes!" shouted Gurgi. "Wise piggy told the truth! Mighty blade will be found again!"

Fflewddur cleared his throat. "A Fflam is always encouraging," he said, "but in this case I should remind you, the prophecy also said Dyrnwyn's flame would be quenched and its power would vanish, which leaves us no better off than we were, even if we did manage to find it. And I also recall something about asking mute stones to speak. So far I've heard not a word from any of the stones here, though in the matter of boulders and rocks, there's hardly a short supply. The only message they've given me is that they're hard to sleep on. Moreover, if you want my opinion, I'd say don't trust prophecies in the first place. It's been my experience they're as bad as enchantments and lead only to one thing: trouble."

"I do not understand the meaning of the prophecy myself," Taran said. "Are these signs of hope, or do we deceive ourselves by wishing them to be? Only Dallben or Gwydion has wisdom to interpret them. And yet I can't help feeling there is some hope at last. But it is true. Our task is no easier than it was."

Doli grimaced. "No easier? It's impossible now. Do you still mean to gain the Red Fallows? I warn you the Cauldron-Born are far out of reach." He snorted. "Don't talk to me about prophecies. Talk about time. We've lost too much of it."

"I have thought long about this, too," Taran answered. "It has been in my mind ever since the tunnel fell. I believe our only chance is to go straight across the mountains and try to hold back the Cauldron-Born as they turn northwest to Annuvin."

"Slim hope," Doli replied. "The Fair Folk can't venture that far. It's forbidden land. That close to Arawn's realm, Fair Folk would die. Gwystyl's waypost was nearest to the Land of Death, and you've seen what it did to his digestion and disposition. The best we could do is to put you well on your way. One of us might go with you," he added. "You can imagine who that is. Good old Doli! I've spent so much time above ground with you humans that being in Annuvin can't harm me.

"Yes, I'll go with you," Doli went on, scowling furiously. "I see nothing else for it. Good old Doli! Sometimes I wish I didn't have such an agreeable temper. Humph!"

Chapter 16

The Enchanter

LIKE A WEARY CHILD, the old man hunched over the bookstrewn table, his head upon his arm. Across his bony shoulders he had flung a cloak; the fire still flickered in the hearth, but the chill of this winter sank into him more deeply than any other he could remember. At his feet, Hen Wen stirred restlessly and whimpered in a high, plaintive voice. Dallben, who was neither altogether asleep nor awake, reached down a frail hand and gently scratched her ear.

The pig would not be calmed. Her pink snout twitched, she snorted and muttered unhappily and tried to hide her head in the folds of his robe. The enchanter at last roused himself.

"What is it, Hen? Is our time upon us?" He gave the pig a reassuring pat and rose stiffly from the wooden stool. "Tut, it is a moment to pass, no more than that, whatever the outcome."

Without haste he took up a long ash-wood staff and, leaning on it, hobbled from the chamber. Hen Wen trotted at his heels. At the cottage door, he pulled the cloak tighter about him and stepped into the night. The moon was at its full, riding distant in a deep sky. Dallben stood, listening carefully. To another's ears, the little farm would have seemed silent as the moon itself, but the old enchanter, his brow furrowed, his eyes half closed, nodded his head. "You are right, Hen," he murmured. "I hear them now. But they are still far. What then," he added, with a wrinkled smile, "must I wait long for them and freeze the little marrow left in my bones?"

Nevertheless, he did not return within the cottage but moved a few paces across the dooryard. His eyes; which had been heavy with drowsiness, grew bright as ice crystals. He peered sharply past the leafless trees of the orchard, as though to see into the shadows entwining the circling forest like black ivy tendrils. Hen Wen stayed behind, sitting uneasily on her haunches and watching the enchanter with much concern on her broad, bristly face.

"I should say there are twenty of them," Dallben remarked, then added wryly, "I do not know whether to be insulted or relieved. Only twenty? It is a paltry number. Yet more than that would be too cumbersome for the long journey, especially through the fighting in the Valley of Ystrad. No, twenty would be deemed ample and well chosen."

For some time the old man stood quietly and patiently. At last, through the clear air, a faint sound of hoofbeats grew more insistent, then stopped, as if the riders had dismounted and were walking their steeds.

Against the dark tangle of trees where the forest rose at the edge of the stubble field, the darting shapes could have been no more than shadows cast by the bushes. Dallben straightened, raised his head, and blew out his breath as gently as if he were puffing at thistledown.

In an instant a biting gale shrieked across the field. The farm was calm, but the wind ripped with the force of a thousand swords into the forest, where the trees clashed and rattled. Horses whinnied, men shouted as branches suddenly lashed against them. The gale beat against the warriors, who flung up their arms to shield themselves from it.

Still, the war band pressed on, struggling through the wind whipped forest and at last gaining the stubble field. At the onset of the gale, Hen Wen, squealing fearfully, had turned tail and dashed into the cottage. Dallben raised a hand and the wind died as quickly as it had risen. Frowning, the old man smote his staff on the frozen turf.

Deep thunder muttered, the ground shuddered; and the field heaved like a restless sea. The warriors staggered and lost their footing, and among the attackers many fled to the safety of the forest, hastening to escape, fearful the earth itself might open and swallow them. The rest, urging each other on, drew their swords and stumbled across the field, racing toward the cottage.

With some vexation Dallben thrust out his arm with fingers spread as though he were casting pebbles into a pond. From his hand a crimson flame spurted and stretched like a fiery lash, in blinding streaks against the black sky.

The warriors cried out as ropes of crackling flame caught at them and twined about their arms and legs. The horses broke loose and galloped madly into the woods. The attackers threw down their weapons and tore frantically at their cloaks and jackets. Howling in pain and terror, the men reeled and plunged in full flight back to the forest.

The flames vanished. Dallben, about to turn away, glimpsed one figure which still pressed across the empty field. Alarmed, the old man gripped his staff and hobbled as quickly as he could into the cottage. The warrior was striding past the stables and into the dooryard. With footfalls pounding behind him, Dallben hurried across the threshold, but the old man had no sooner gained the refuge of his chamber than the warrior burst through the doorway. Dallben spun about to face his assailant.

"Beware!" cried the enchanter. "Beware! Take no step closer."

Dallben had drawn himself up to his full height, his eyes flashed, and his voice rang with such a commanding tone that the warrior hesitated. The man's hood had fallen back and the firelight played over the golden hair and proud features of Pryderi Son of Pwyll.

Dallben's eyes never faltered. "I have long awaited you, King of the West Domains."

Pryderi made as if to take a step forward. His hand dropped to the pommel of the naked sword at his belt. Yet the old man's glance held him. "You mistake my rank," Pryderi said mockingly. "Now I rule a larger realm. Prydain itself."

"What then," replied Dallben, feigning surprise, "is Gwydion of the House of Don no longer High King of Prydain?"

Pryderi laughed harshly. "A king without a kingdom? A king in rags, hunted like a fox? Caer Dathyl has fallen, the Sons of Don are scattered to the wind. This you already know, though it seems the tidings have reached you swiftly."

"All tidings reach me swiftly," Dallben said. "Swifter, perhaps, than they reach you."

"Do you boast of your powers?" Pryderi answered scornfully. "At the last, when you most needed them, they failed. Your spells did no more than frighten a handful of warriors. Does the crafty Dallben take pride in putting churls to flight?"

"My spells were not meant to destroy, only to warn," Dallben replied. "This is a place of danger to all who enter against my will. Your followers heeded my warning. Alas, Lord Pryderi, that you did not. These churls are wiser than their king, for it is not wisdom that a man should seek his own death."

"Again you are mistaken, wizard," Pryderi said. "It is your death I seek."

Dallben tugged at the wisps of his beard. "What you may seek and what you may find are not always one, Son of Pwyll," he said quietly. "Yes, you would take my life. That is no secret to me. Has Caer Dathyl fallen? That victory is hollow so long as Caer Dallben stands and so long as I live. Two strongholds have long stood against the Lord of Annuvin: a golden castle and a farmer's cottage. One lies in ruins. But the other is still a shield against evil, and a sword ever pointed at Arawn's heart. The Death-Lord knows this, and knows as well that he cannot enter here, nor can his Huntsmen and Cauldron-Born.

"Thus have you come," Dallben added, "to do your master's bidding."

A flush of anger spread over Pryderi's face. "I am my own master," he cried. "If power is given me to serve Prydain, shall I fear to use it? I am no Huntsman, who kills for the joy of killing. I do what must be done, and shrink not from it. My purpose is greater than the life of a man, or a thousand men. And if you must die, Dallben, then so be it."

Pryderi ripped the sword from his belt, and in a sudden movement struck at the enchanter. But Dallben had taken a firmer grip on his staff and raised it against the blow. Pryderi's blade shattered upon the slender wood, and the shards fell ringing to the ground.

Pryderi cast the broken hilt from him. Yet it was not fear that filled his eyes, but scorn. "I have been warned of your powers, wizard. I chose to prove them for myself."

Dallben had not moved. "Have you been truly warned? I think not. Had you been, you would not have dared to face me."

"Your strength is great, wizard," Pryderi said, "but not so great as your weakness. Your secret is known to me. Strive against me as you will. At the end it is I who must conquer. Of all powers one is forbidden you on pain of your own death. Are you master of winds? Can you make the earth tremble? This is useless toying. You cannot do what the lowest warrior can do: you cannot kill."

From his cloak Pryderi had drawn a short black dagger whose pommel bore the seal of Annuvin. "No such ban is laid upon me," he said. "As I have been warned, so have I been armed. This blade comes from the hand of Arawn himself. It can be wielded despite all your spells."

A look of pity and deep sorrow had come over Dallben's wrinkled face. "Poor foolish man," he murmured. "It is true. This weapon of Annuvin can take my life and I cannot stay your hand. But you are blind as the mole that toils in the earth. Ask now, Lord Pryderi, which the master and which the slave. Arawn has betrayed you.

"Yes, betrayed you," Dallben said, his voice sharp and cold. "You thought to make him serve you. Yet all unwitting you have served him better than any of his hirelings. He sent you to slay me, and gave you the means to do it. Indeed, perhaps you shall slay me. But it will be Arawn's triumph, not yours. Once you have done his bidding, you are a useless husk to the Lord of Annuvin. He knows full well that never will I let you depart alive from Caer Dallben. You are a dead man, Lord Pryderi, even as you stand here."

Pryderi raised the black dagger. "With words you seek to ward off your death."

"See from the window," Dallben answered.

As he spoke, a crimson glow poured through the casement. A broad belt of flames had sprung up to circle Caer Dallben. Pryderi faltered and stepped back. "You have believed half-truths," Dallben said. "No man has ever suffered death at my hands. But those who scorn my spells do so at their own peril. Slay me, Lord Pryderi, and the flames you see will sweep over Caer Dallben in an instant. There is no escape for you."

Pryderi's golden features were drawn in a look of disbelief, mingled with growing fear at the enchanter's words. "You lie," he whispered hoarsely. "The flames will die, even as you will die."

"That, Lord, you must prove for yourself," Dallben said.

"I have my proof!" Pryderi cried. "Arawn would not destroy what he seeks most. There were two tasks! In all your wisdom you did not guess them. Your death was only one. The other, to gain The Book of Three."

Dallben shook his head sadly and glanced at the heavy, leather-bound tome. "You have been doubly betrayed, then. This book will no more serve Arawn than it will serve any evil end. Nor will it serve you, Lord Pryderi."

The force of the old man's voice was like a cold wind. "You have steeped your hands in blood, and in your pride sought to pass judgment on your fellow men. Was it your concern to serve Prydain? You chose an evil means to do it. Good cannot come from evil. You leagued yourself with Arawn for what you deemed a noble cause. Now you are a prisoner of the very evil you hoped to overcome, prisoner and victim. For in The Book of Three you are already marked for death."

Dallben's eyes blazed and the truth of his words seemed to grip Pryderi's throat. The King's face had turned ashen. With a cry, he flung away the dagger and clutched at the huge book. Desperately his hands reached out as if they would rip it asunder.

"Touch it not!" Dallben commanded.

But Pryderi had already seized it. As he did so a blinding bolt of lightning sprang like a blazing tree from the ancient tome. Pryderi's death shriek rang through the chamber.

Dallben turned away and bowed his head as though some heavy grief had come upon him. Beyond the little farm the circle of fire dwindled and faded in the quiet dawn.

Chapter 17

The Snowstorm

THE FAIR FOLK WARRIORS, all save Doli, had turned back at the line of treeless crags marking the westernmost edge of the Hills of Bran-Galedd, for beyond that point the land lay under the sway of Arawn Death-Lord. For some days now the companions had toiled painfully through a wilderness of stone, where not even moss or lichen flourished. The sky was gray, and the few thin clouds no more than shreds of darker gray. It was as though an evil mist had seeped from the stronghold of Annuvin, stifling all living things and leaving only this rocky waste.

The companions spoke little, husbanding their strength. From the first day within the borders of the Land of Death, they had been obliged to dismount and go on foot, leading the weary horses through the treacherous passes. Even the stallion Melynlas showed signs of fatigue; the steed's powerful neck drooped and his gait sometimes faltered. Llyan, however, padded skillfully along the narrowest and most dangerous of ledges. Often, while the companions labored down one sharp descent to clamber up an even sharper slope, the enormous cat leaped from one crag to the next, and they would come upon her sitting with her tail coiled about her haunches, waiting for Fflewddur to scratch her ears, after which she would bound off once more.

Doli, firmly gripping his staff, his white hood pulled well down over his face, trudged at the head of the little band. Taran had never ceased to wonder at the tireless dwarf who found, as though by secret sense, hidden footpaths and narrow ways that helped speed the harsh journey.

Yet, after a time, Doli's pace seemed to flag. Taran saw with growing concern and uneasiness that from time to time the dwarf would lose his footing and his step turn suddenly unsure. When Doli staggered and dropped to one knee, Taran ran to his side, alarmed, and tried to lift up the dwarf. The companions hurried to join him.

Doli's usually ruddy face had grown mottled and he breathed only in painful gasps. He struggled to regain his feet.

"Curse this evil realm," he muttered. "Can't stand it as well as I thought. Don't gawk! Give me a hand up."

Stubbornly, the dwarf refused to mount one of the horses, insisting he felt better when his feet were on the ground. When Taran urged him to rest, Doli angrily shook his head. "I said I'd find a passage for you," he snapped. "And I mean to. Can't stand a botched job. When the Fair Folk set about a task, they do it right, and don't dawdle over it."

Nevertheless, after a short while Doli reluctantly consented to climb astride Melynlas. He fumbled with the stirrups but grumbled irritably when Fflewddur helped him into the saddle.

Even this relief was not long lasting. The dwarf's head soon dropped weakly forward, he swayed unsteadily and, before Taran could reach him, lurched from the stallion's back and pitched to the ground.

Taran quickly signaled a halt. "We'll go no further today," he told the dwarf. "By morning you'll have your strength again."

Doli shook his head. His face was white, his crimson eyes had turned dull; "No use waiting," he gasped. "I've been too long here. It will grow worse. Must keep on while I can still guide you."

"Not at the cost of your life," Taran said. "Hevydd the Smith will ride with you to the border. Llassar Son of Drudwas will help the rest of us find our way."

"Won't do," muttered the dwarf. "Take too long without Fair Folk skill. Tie me to the saddle," he commanded.

He strove to raise himself from the ground, but fell back and lay motionless. His breathing grew rasping and violent.

Taran cried out in alarm, "He's dying. Hurry, Fflewddur. Help me put him on Llyan. She is the swiftest mount. Ride back with him. There may still be time."

"Leave me here," Doli gasped. "You can't spare Fflewddur. His sword is worth ten. Or six, at least. Go quickly."

"That I will not do," replied Taran.

"Fool!" choked the dwarf. "Heed me!" he commanded. "It must be done. Are you a war leader or an Assistant Pig-Keeper?"

Taran knelt by the dwarf, whose eyes were half-closed, and gently put a hand on Doli's shoulder. "Need you ask, old friend? I'm an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

Taran rose to meet the bard, who had hastened up with Llyan, but when he turned back to the dwarf, the ground was empty. Doli had vanished.

"Where has he gone?" shouted Fflewddur.

An irritable voice came from somewhere near a boulder. "Here! Where else do you think?"

"Doli!" cried Taran. "You were close to your death, and now..."

"I've turned invisible, as any clodpole with half an ounce of sense can plainly see," snorted Doli. "Should have thought of it before. Last time in Annuvin, I was invisible most of the way. Never realized how it protected me."

"Can it serve you now?" asked Taran, still a little bewildered. "Dare you keep on?"

"Of course," the dwarf retorted. "I'm better already. But I'll have to stay invisible. As long as I can stand it, that is! Invisible! Hornets and wasps in my ears!"

"Good old Doli!" Taran cried, seeking vainly to pump the dwarf's unseen hand.

"Not that again!" snapped the dwarf. "I'd not do this willingly--- oh, my ears--- for any mortal in Prydain--- oh, my head--- but you! And don't shout! My ears won't stand it!"

Doli's staff, which had dropped to the ground, seemed to rise of itself, as the invisible dwarf picked it up. From the motion of the staff Taran could see that Doli had once more begun trudging ahead.

Guiding themselves by the length of wood, the companions followed. Yet even without sight of the staff they could have found their way, led by the sound of loud and furious grumbling.

Fflewddur was first to sight the gwythaints. In the distance, above a shallow ravine three black-winged shapes soared and circled. "What have they found?" the bard cried. "Whatever it is, I hope we're not the ones to be found next!"

Taran sounded his horn and signaled the war band to find whatever protection they could among the huge boulders. Eilonwy, disregarding Taran's orders, scrambled to the top of a high, jutting stone and shaded her eyes.

"I can't tell for sure," Eilonwy said, "but it looks to me as though they've cornered something. Poor creature. It will not last long against them."

Gurgi crouched fearfully against a rock and tried to make himself as flat as a fish. "Nor will Gurgi, if they see him," he wailed. "They will seize his poor tender head with gashings and slashings!"

"Pass on! Pass on!" Glew shouted, his little face puckered in fright. "They're busy with their prey. Don't stop here like fools. Get as far away as we can. Oh, if I were a giant again, you'd not find me lingering!"

The gwythaints narrowed their circle and had begun to swoop downward, seeking their kill. But suddenly what appeared to be a black cloud, with a dark shape leading it, streaked down from the eastern quarter of the sky. Before the surprised companions could follow its swift movement overhead, the cloud shattered as if at its leader's command into winged fragments that drove straight upon the huge birds. Even at this distance Taran could hear the furious screams of the gwythaints as they veered aloft to face these strange assailants.

Fflewddur had leaped up beside Eilonwy and, as Taran and Doli clambered to a vantage point, the bard shouted excitedly: "Crows! Great Belin, I've never seen so many!"

Like great black hornets, the crows swarmed over their enemy; it was not a single combat of bird against bird, but a battle in which whole troops of crows grappled and clung to the gwythaints' lashing wings, heedless of sharp beaks and talons, forcing the creatures earthward. When, by sheer strength, the gwythaints shook off their attackers, a new troop would form and renew the charge. The gwythaints sought to break free of their burden by plunging downward, scraping as closely as they dared against the sharp stones. But as they did, the crows pecked furiously at them and the gwythaints spun and fluttered dizzily, losing their course and falling once again victim to the relentless onslaught.

In a last burst of power, the gwythaints beat their way aloft; they turned and sped desperately northward, with the crows in hot pursuit. They vanished over the horizon, all save a solitary crow that flew swiftly toward the companions.

"Kaw!" Taran shouted and held out his arms.

Jabbering at the top of his voice, the crow swooped down. His eyes glittered in triumph and he flapped his shiny wings more proudly than a rooster. He gabbled, croaked, squawked, and poured forth such a torrent of yammering that Gurgi clapped his hands over his ears.

From his perch on Taran's wrist, Kaw bobbed his head and clacked his beak, thoroughly delighted with himself and never for a moment ceasing his chatter.

Taran, trying vainly to interrupt the crow's raucous and boastful clamor, had despaired of learning any tidings from the roguish bird when Kaw flapped his wings and sought to fly off again.

"Achren! " kaw croaked. "Achren! Queen!"

"You've seen her?" Taran caught his breath. He had given little thought to the once-powerful Queen since her flight from Caer Dallben. "Where is she?"

The crow fluttered a little distance away, then returned, his beating wings urging Taran to follow him. "Close! Close! Gwythaints!"

Eilonwy gasped. "That's what we saw. The gwythaints have slain her!"

"Alive!" Kaw answered. "Hurt!"

Taran ordered the Commot horsemen to await him, then leaped to the ground to follow after Kaw. Eilonwy, Doli, and Gurgi hastened to join him. Glew refused to budge, remarking that he had already skinned himself on enough rocks and had no intention of going out of his way for anyone.

Fflewddur, hesitated a moment. "Yes, well, I suppose I shall go along, too, should you need help in carrying her. But it doesn't sit well with me. Achren was eager enough to go her own way, and I rather think we shouldn't meddle. Not that I fear her, not for a moment--- ah, the truth of it is," he hurriedly added, as the harp strings tensed, "the woman makes me shudder. Since the day she threw me into her dungeon, I've noticed something unfriendly about her. She has no fondness for music, I can tell you. Nevertheless," he cried, "a Fflam to the rescue!"

Like a tattered bundle of black rags the still form of Queen Achren lay in the fissure of a massive rock where she had, in her last hope, pressed to escape the gwythaints' vicious beaks and talons. Yet her refuge, Taran saw pityingly, had offered the Queen scant protection. Achren moaned faintly as the companions carefully lifted her from the crevice. Llyan, who had followed along with the bard, crouched silently nearby, and lashed her tail uneasily. Achren's face, drawn and deathly pale, had been badly slashed, and her arms bore many deep and bleeding wounds. Eilonwy held the woman and tried to revive her.

"Llyan shall carry her back with us," Taran said. "She will need more healing herbs than I have brought; more than her wounds, a fever has weakened her. She has gone long without food or drink."

"Her shoes are in ribbons," Eilonwy said. "How far must she have wandered in this awful place? Poor Achren! I can't say I'm fond of her, but it makes my toes curl up just imagining what could have happened."

Fflewddur, after helping move the unconscious Queen to more level ground, had stayed a few paces away. Gurgi, too, chose to keep some distance between Achren and himself. Nevertheless, at Taran's bidding they drew closer and the bard, with many soothing words, held Llyan steady while the other companions lifted Achren to the great cat's back.

"Hurry along," called the voice of Doli. "It's starting to snow."

White flakes had begun drifting from the heavy sky; within little time a biting wind swirled around the companions and snow drove against them in an ever-thickening cloud. Needles of ice stung their faces, it grew more and more difficult to see, and as the storm gained in fury even Doli could no longer be sure of the path. The companions staggered blindly in a file, each clutching the other, with Taran gripping an end of Doli's staff. Kaw, almost entirely covered with snow, hunched up his wings and tried desperately to keep his perch on Taran's shoulder. Llyan, burdened with the motionless Queen, bent her great head against the gale and plodded onward; but the sure-footed cat often stumbled over hidden boulders and snow-filled pits. Once Gurgi yelled in terror and vanished as suddenly as if the earth had swallowed him. He had tumbled into a deep crevice and by the time the companions were able to haul him out, the hapless creature had nearly turned into a shaggy icicle. He trembled so violently he could scarcely walk, and between them, Taran and Fflewddur bore him along.

The wind did not slacken, the snow fell in an impenetrable curtain; and the cold, already bitter, grew even more intense. Breathing was painful and with each labored gasp Taran felt the frigid draft like daggers in his lungs. Eilonwy half-sobbed with cold and exhaustion, and she clung to Taran, striving to keep her footing as Doli led them through drifts that now had risen more than knee-high.

"We can't go on," the dwarf shouted above the wind. "Find shelter. Make our way to the horsemen when the snow lets up."

"But the warriors, how shall they fare?" Taran replied anxiously.

"Better than we!" the dwarf cried. "Where they are, there's a good-sized cave I noticed along the cliff wall. Your young shepherd is bound to find it, never fear. Our trouble is finding something for ourselves."

However, even after long and painful searching, the dwarf discovered nothing more than a shallow gully below an overhanging ledge. The companions stumbled gratefully into it; here they were protected against the worst battering of the wind and snow. But the cold still gripped them, and no sooner had they halted than their bodies seemed to stiffen and they moved arms and legs only with the greatest difficulty. They clung together for warmth and pressed against Llyan's thick coat of fur. Even this gave them little comfort for, as night fell, the chill deepened. Taran stripped off his cloak and covered Eilonwy and Achren; Gurgi insisted on adding his sheepskin jacket and he crouched with his shaggy arms wrapped around himself, his teeth chattering loudly.

"I fear that Achren will not live the night," Taran murmured to Fflewddur. "She was too close to death when we found her. She will not have strength to stand such cold."

"Will any of us?" answered the bard. "Without a fire, we might just as well say farewell to each other right now."

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Eilonwy sighed. "I've never been so comfortable in all my life."

Taran looked at her in alarm. The girl did not stir under the cloak. Her eyes were half-shut, her voice faltered with drowsiness.

"Quite warm," she rambled on happily "What a lovely goosefeather quilt I have. How odd. I dreamed we were all caught in a terrible storm. It wasn't pleasant at all. Or am I still dreaming? No matter. When I wake up, it will all be gone away."

Taran, his face drawn with anxiety, shook her roughly. "Don't sleep!" he cried. "If you sleep it will be your death."

Eilonwy did not answer him, but only turned' her head away and closed her eyes. Gurgi had curled up beside her and could not be roused. Taran himself felt a fatal drowsiness spreading over him. "Fire," he said, "we must build a fire."

"From what?" Doli brusquely replied. "There's not a twig to be found in this wilderness. What will you burn? Our boots? Our cloaks? We'll freeze all the faster." He flickered back into sight. "And if I'm going to freeze, I won't do it with hornets buzzing in my ears."

Fflewddur, who had been silent this while, reached behind him and unslung his harp. At this, Doli gave a furious shout.

"Harp music!" he cried. "My friend, your wits are frozen solid as ice!"

"It shall give us the tune we need," replied Fflewddur.

Taran dragged himself to the side of the bard. "Fflewddur, what do you mean to do?"

The bard did not answer. For a long moment he held the harp lovingly in his hands and gently touched the strings, then with a quick motion raised the beautiful instrument and smashed it across his knee.

Taran cried out in anguish as the wood shattered into splinters and the harp strings tore loose with a discordant burst of sound. Fflewddur let the broken fragments drop from his hands.

"Burn it," he said. "It is wood well-seasoned."

Taran seized the bard by the shoulders. "What have you done?" he sobbed. "Gallant, foolish Fflam! You have destroyed your harp for the sake of a moment's warmth. We need a greater fire than this wood can ever give us."

Doli, however, had quickly taken flint from his pouch and had struck a spark into the pitiful heap of splinters. Instantly, the wood blazed up and sudden warmth poured over the companions. Taran stared amazed at the rising flames. The bits of wood seemed hardly to be consumed, yet the fire burned all the more brightly. Gurgi stirred and raised his head. His teeth had ceased their chattering and color was returning to his frost-pinched face. Eilonwy, too, sat up and looked about her as though waking from a dream. At a glance she understood what fuel the bard had offered, and tears sprang to her eyes

"Don't give it a second thought," cried Fflewddur. "The truth of the matter is that I'm delighted to be rid of it. I could never really play the thing, and it was more a burden than anything else. Great Belin, I feel light as a feather without it. Believe me, I was never meant to be a bard in the first place, so all is for the best."

In the depths of the flame several harp strings split in two and a puff of sparks flew into the air.

"But it gives a foul smoke," Fflewddur muttered, though the fire was burning clear and brilliant. "It makes my eyes water horribly."

The flames had now spread to all the fragments, and as the harp strings blazed a melody sprang suddenly from the heart of the fire. Louder, and more beautiful it grew, and the strains of music filled the air, echoing endlessly among the crags. Dying, the harp seemed to be pouring forth all the songs ever played upon it, and the sound shimmered like the fire.

All night the harp sang, and its melodies were of joy, sorrow, love, and valor. The fire never abated, and little by little new life and strength returned to the companions. And as the notes soared upward a wind rose from the south, parting the falling snow like a curtain and flooding the hills with warmth. Only at dawn did the flame sink into glowing embers and the voice of the harp fall silent. The storm had ended, the crags glistened with melting snow.

Wordless and wondering, the companions left their shelter. Fflewddur lingered behind for a moment. Of the harp, nothing remained but a single string, the one unbreakable string which Gwydion had given the bard long ago. Fflewddur knelt and drew it from the ashes. In the heat of the fire the harp string had twisted and coiled around itself, but it glittered like pure gold.

Chapter 18

Mount Dragon

AS DOLI HAD FORETOLD Llassar had led the warriors to shelter in a cave and had saved them from the full fury of the snowstorm. The companions now made ready to continue their journey. The sharp crags that were their last obstacle lay not far distant. The crest of Mount Dragon loomed dark and forbidding. With the help of Taran's healing potions and Eilonwy's care, Achren had regained consciousness. Fflewddur was still reluctant to come within fewer than three paces of the black-robed Queen, but Gurgi had finally taken enough courage to open his wallet and offer food to the half-starved woman--- although the creature's face wrinkled uneasily and he held out the morsels at arm's length, as if fearful of being bitten. Achren, however, ate sparingly; Glew, for his part, lost no time in snatching up what remained, popping it into his mouth and glancing about to see whether more might be forthcoming.

Achren's fever had left her weakened in body, yet her face had lost none of its haughtiness; and after Taran had briefly recounted what had brought the companions so close to Annuvin it was with ill-disguised scorn that she answered him.

"Does a pig-keeper and his shabby followers hope to triumph where a queen failed? I would have reached Annuvin long since, had it not been for Magg and his warriors. By chance, his war band came upon me in Cantrev Cadiffor." Her broken lips drew back in a bitter grimace. "They left me for dead. I heard Magg laugh when they told him I had been slain. He, too, shall know my vengeance.

"Yes, I lay in the forest like a wounded beast. But my hatred was sharper than their sword thrusts. I would have crept after them on hands and knees and given my last strength to strike them down, though indeed I feared that I would die unrevenged. But I found refuge. There are still those in Prydain who pay homage to Achren. Until I could journey once again, they sheltered me; and for that service they shall be rewarded.

"Yet I failed even within sight of my goal. The gwythaints were more ruthless than Magg. They would have made certain of my death--- I, who once commanded them. Sharp will be their punishment."

"I have the awful feeling," Eilonwy whispered to Taran, "that Achren sometimes thinks she's still Queen of Prydain. Not that I mind, so long as she doesn't take it into her head to try to punish us."

Achren, overhearing Eilonwy's remarks, turned to the girl. "Forgive me, Princess of Llyr," she said quickly. "I spoke half in a rambling dream and the cold comforts of memory. I am grateful to you for my life and shall repay you far beyond its worth. Hear me well. Would you pass the mountain bastions of Annuvin? You follow the wrong path."

"Humph!" Doli cried, popping visible for a moment. "Don't tell one of the Fair Folk he's on the wrong path."

"Yet it is true," Achren replied. "There are secrets unknown even to your people."

"It's no secret that if you cross mountains you choose the easiest way," Doli snapped back. "And that's what I plan. I'm taking my bearings from Mount Dragon, but you can believe me, once we're closer, we'll turn aside and find a passage through the lower slopes. Do you think I'm such a fool as to do otherwise?"

Achren smiled contemptuously. "In so doing, dwarf, you would indeed be a fool. Of all the peaks surrounding Annuvin, Mount Dragon alone can be breached. Heed me," she added, as Taran murmured in disbelief. "The crags are lures and traps. Others have been deceived, and their bones lie in the pitfalls. The lower mountains beckon with promise of easier passage, but no sooner are they crossed than they fall away into sheer cliffs. Does Mount Dragon warn you to shun its heights? The western descent is a very roadway to the Iron Portals of Annuvin. To reach it there is a hidden trail, where I shall guide you."

Taran looked closely at the Queen. "Such are your words, Achren. Do you ask us to stake our lives on them?"

Achren's eyes glittered. "In your heart you fear me, Pig-Keeper. But which do you fear the more--- the path I offer you or the certain death of Lord Gwydion? Do you seek to overtake Arawn's Cauldron warriors? This you cannot do, for time will defeat you unless you follow where I lead. This is my gift to you, Pig-Keeper. Scorn it if you choose, and we shall go our separate ways."

Achren turned and muffled herself with her ragged cloak. The companions drew away from her and spoke among themselves. Doll, thoroughly vexed and disgruntled by Achren's judgment of his skill, nonetheless admitted that he could have unwittingly led them astray. "We Fair Folk have never dared to journey here, and I can't prove what she says one way or the other. But I've seen mountains that look sheer on one side--- and on the other you could roll down without so much as a bump. So she could be telling the truth."

"And she could be trying to get rid of us the fastest way she knows," the bard put in. "Those pitfalls with bones in them make my flesh creep. I think Achren would be delighted if some of those bones were ours. She's playing her own game, you can be sure of that." He shook his head uneasily. "A Fflam is fearless, but with Achren, I prefer being wary."

Taran was silent a moment, searching for the wisdom to choose one way or the other, and again felt the weight of the burden Gwydion had set upon him to be more than he could bear. Achren's face was a pallid mask; he could read nothing of her heart in it. More than once the Queen would have taken the lives of the companions. But, as he knew, she had served Dallben well and faithfully after her own powers had been shattered. "I believe," he said slowly, "that we can do no less than trust her until she gives us clear reason to doubt. I fear her," he added, "as do all of us. Yet I will not let fear blind me to hope."

"I agree," said Eilonwy, "which makes me think in this case, at least, your judgment is quite right. I admit that trusting Achren is like letting a hornet sit on your nose. But sometimes you only get stung when you try to brush it off--- the hornet, I mean."

Taran went to Achren's side. "Lead us to Mount Dragon," he said. "We will follow you."

ANOTHER DAY'S TRAVEL brought the companions across a harsh, uneven valley that lay within the shadow of Mount Dragon itself. The summit had been well named, for Taran saw its peak was in the rough shape of a monstrous, crested head with gaping jaws, and on either side the lower slopes spread like outflung wings. The great blocks and shafts of stone that rose to form its jagged bulk were dark, mottled with patches of dull red. Before this last barrier, poised as though to swoop downward and crush them, the companions fearfully halted. Achren strode to the head of the waiting column and beckoned them onward.

"There are other, easier paths," Achren said, as they entered a narrow defile that twisted between towering walls of sheer cliffs, "but they are longer and those who travel them can be seen before they reach the stronghold of Annuvin. This one is known only to Arawn and his most trusted servants. And to me, for it was I who showed him the secret ways of Mount Dragon."

Taran, however, soon began to fear Achren had deceived them, for the path rose so steeply that men and horses could barely keep their footing. Achren seemed to be leading them deep into the heart of the mountain. Mighty shelves of overhanging rocks rose like arches above the toiling band, blotting the sky from their sight. At times, the path skirted yawning chasms and more than once Taran stumbled, buffeted by a sudden chill blast that flung him against the walls. His heart pounded and his head reeled at the sight of the deep gorges opening at his feet, and terrified he clung to the sharp edges of jutting rocks. Achren, whose step did not falter, only turned and silently glanced at him, a mocking smile on her ravaged face.

The path continued to rise, though not so abruptly, for it no longer followed the slope of the mountain but seemed almost to double back on itself, and the companions gained the higher reaches of the trail only by small degrees. The huge stone jaws of the dragon's head loomed above. The trail which, for some of its course, had been hidden by grotesque formations of rocks, now lay exposed, and Taran could see most of the mountain slope dropping sharply below him. They were almost at the highest ridge of the dragon's shoulder, and it was there that Kaw, scouting ahead, returned to them and clacked his beak frantically.

"Gwydion! Gwydion!" the' crow jabbered at the top of his voice. "Annuvin! Haste!"

Taran sprang past Achren and raced to the ridge, clambering upward among the rocks, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the stronghold. Had the Sons of Don already begun their attack on Annuvin? Had Gwydion's warriors themselves overtaken the Cauldron-Born? His heart pounding against his ribs, he struggled higher. Suddenly the dark towers of Arawn's fastness were below him. Beyond the high walls, beyond the massive Iron Portals, ugly and brooding, he glimpsed the spreading courtyards, the Hall of Warriors where once the Black Cauldron had stood. Arawn's Great Hall rose, glittering like black, polished marble, and above it, at the highest pinnacle, floated the Death-Lord's banner.

The sight of Annuvin sickened him with the chill of death that hung over it, his head spun and shadows seemed to blind him. He pressed higher. Struggling shapes filled the courtyard, the clash of blades and shouted battle cries struck his ears. Men were scaling the western wall; Dark Gate itself had been breached, and Taran believed he saw the flash of Melyngar's white flanks and golden mane, and the tall figures of Gwydion and Taliesin.

The Commot men had not failed! Arawn's deathless host had been held back and victory was in Gwydion's hands. But even as Taran turned to shout the joyous tidings, his heart froze. Southward he glimpsed the hastening army of Cauldron-Born. Their iron-shod boots rang and clattered as the mute warriors raced toward the heavy gates and the horns of the troop captains shrieked for vengeance.

Taran leaped from the ridge to join the companions. The shelf of stone crumbled at his feet. He pitched forward, Eilonwy's scream rang in his ears; and the sharp rocks seemed to whirl upward against him. Desperately he clutched at them and strove to break his fall. With all his strength he clung to the sheer side of Mount Dragon, while jagged stones bit like teeth into his palms. His sword, ripped from his belt, clattered into the gorge.

He saw the horrified faces of the companions above him and knew he was beyond their reach. His muscles trembling, his lungs bursting with his efforts, he fought to climb upward to the path.

His foot slipped and he twisted about to regain his balance. It was then that he saw, plunging from the peak of Mount Dragon, the gwythaint speeding toward him.

Chapter 19

The Death-Lord

THE GWYTHAINT, GREATER THAN any Taran had ever seen, screamed and beat its wings, churning a wind like a gale of death. Taran saw the curved, gaping beak and blood-red eyes, and in another instant the gwythaint's talons sank into his shoulders, seeking to grip the flesh beneath his cloak. The relentless bird pressed so closely that the reek of its feathers filled Taran's nostrils. Its head, deeply scarred by an old wound, thrust against him.

Taran turned his face away and waited for the beak to rend his throat. Yet the gwythaint did not strike. Instead, it was pulling him from the rocks with a strength Taran could not resist. The gwythaint no longer screamed, but made soft keening sounds, and the bird's eyes fixed upon him not in fury but in a strange gaze of recognition.

The bird seemed to be urging him to loosen his grasp. A sudden memory from his boyhood flooded Taran, and again he saw a fledgling gwythaint in a thorn bush; a young bird wounded and dying. Was this the ragged bundle of feathers he had nursed back to life? Had the creature come at last to pay a debt so long remembered? Taran dared not hope, yet as he clung, weakening, to the side of Mount Dragon, it was his only hope. He relaxed his grip and let himself fall free.

The weight of its burden made the gwythaint falter and drop earthward for a moment. Below Taran, the crags reeled. With all its strength, the huge bird beat its wings and Taran felt himself borne upward, higher and higher, as the wind whistled in his ears. Its black wings heaving and straining, the gwythaint pressed steadily aloft until at last its talons opened and Taran fell to the stone-crested peak of Mount Dragon.

Achren had spoken the truth. The short, downward slope lay before him, clear and unhindered to the Iron Portals, which now swung open as the hastening army of Cauldron-Born streamed into Annuvin. The deathless host had drawn their swords. Within the stronghold, Gwydion's warriors had seen the foe, and shouts of despair rose from the embattled Sons of Don.

A troop of Cauldron-Born, sighting the lone figure of Taran atop the mountain's summit and the companions who now had crossed the ridge, broke from the main body of the host and turned their attack upon Mount Dragon. Brandishing their weapons, they sped up the slope.

The gwythaint, circling overhead, screamed a war cry. Sweeping its wings, the giant bird flew straight to the onrushing warriors and plunged into their ranks, striking out with beak and claws. Under the violence of the gwythaint's unexpected charge, the first rank of Cauldron-Born fell back and stumbled to the ground, but one of the mute warriors lashed out with his sword, striking again and again until the gwythaint dropped at his feet. The huge wings fluttered and trembled, then the battered body lay still.

Three of the Cauldron-Born had leaped past their comrades and raced toward Taran, who read his own death in their livid faces. His eyes darted about the summit, vainly seeking a last means of defense.

At the highest peak of the dragon's crest rose a tall rock. Time and tempest had gnawed it into a grotesque shape. The wind, blowing through the eroded crannies and hollows, set up a baleful keening, and the stone shrieked and moaned as if with human tongue. The weird wail seemed to command, to beseech, to draw Taran closer. Here was his only weapon. He flung himself against the rock and wrestled against the unyielding bulk, struggling to uproot it. The Cauldron-Born were nearly upon him.

The stone crest seemed to move a little as Taran redoubled his efforts. Then suddenly it rolled from its socket. With a final heave Taran sent it crashing amid his assailants. Two of the Cauldron-Born tumbled backward and their blades spun from their hands, but the third warrior did not falter in his       upward climb.

Driven by despair, as a man casts pebbles at the lightning that would strike him down, Taran groped for a handful of stones, of loose earth, even a broken twig to fling in defiance of the Cauldron warrior who strode closer, blade upraised.

The socket from which the dragon's crest had been torn was lined with flat stones, and in it as in a narrow grave, lay Dyrnwyn, the black sword.

Taran snatched it up. For an instant, his mind reeling, he did not recognize the blade. Once, long before, he had sought to draw Dyrnwyn and his life had been almost forfeit to his rashness. Now, heedless of the cost, seeing no more than a weapon come to his hand, he ripped the sword from its sheath. Dyrnwyn flamed with a white and blinding light. It was only then, in some distant corner of his mind, Taran dimly understood that Dyrnwyn was blazing in his grasp and that he was still alive.

Dazzled, the Cauldron-Born dropped his sword and flung his hands to his face. Taran leaped forward and with all his strength drove the blazing weapon deep into the warrior's heart.

The Cauldron-Born stumbled and fell; and from lips long mute burst a shriek that echoed and re-echoed from the Death-Lord's stronghold as though rising from a thousand tongues. Taran staggered back. The Cauldron-Born lay motionless.

Along the path and at the Iron Portals the Cauldron warriors toppled as one body. Within the stronghold the deathless men locked in combat with the Sons of Don screamed and crumpled to earth even as Taran's foe had fallen. A troop hastening to fill the breach at Dark Gate pitched headlong at the feet of Gwydion's warriors, and those who strove to slay the soldiers at the western wall dropped in mid-stride and their weapons clattered on the stones. Death at last had overcome the deathless Cauldron-Born.

Shouting for the companions, Taran raced from the peak of Mount Dragon. The Commot horsemen leaped to their saddles and urged their steeds to a gallop, plunging after Taran and into the fray.

Taran sped across the courtyard. At the death of the Cauldron-Born, many of Arawn's mortal guards threw down their weapons and sought vainly to flee the stronghold. Others fought with the frenzy of men whose lives were already lost; and the remaining Huntsmen, who had gained new strength as their comrades fell under the blades of the Sons of Don, still shouted their war cry and flung themselves against Gwydion's warriors. One of the Huntsmen troop captains, his branded face twisted in rage, slashed at Taran, then shouted in horror and fled at the sight of the flaming sword.

Taran fought his way through the press of warriors that swirled about him and raced toward the Great Hall where he had first glimpsed Gwydion. He burst through the portals and as he did so, sudden fear and loathing plucked at him. Torches flared along the dark, glittering corridors. For a moment he faltered, as though a black wave had engulfed him. From the far end of the corridor Gwydion had seen him and he strode quickly to Taran's side. Taran ran to meet him, shouting triumphantly that Dyrnwyn had been found.

"Sheathe the blade!" Gwydion cried, shielding his eyes with a hand. "Sheathe the blade, or it will cost your life!"

Taran obeyed.

Gwydion's face was drawn and pale, his green-flecked eyes burned feverishly. "How have you drawn this blade, Pig-Keeper?" Gwydion demanded. "My hands alone dare touch it. Give me the sword."

The voice of Gwydion rang harsh and commanding, yet Taran hesitated, his heart pounding with a strange dread.

"Quickly!" Gwydion ordered. "Will you destroy what I have fought to win? Arawn's treasure trove lies open to our hands, and power greater than any man has dreamed awaits us. You will share with me in it, Pig-Keeper. I trust no other.

"Shall some base-born warrior keep these treasures from us?" Gwydion cried. "Arawn has fled his realm, Pryderi is slain and his army scattered. None has strength to stand against us now. Give me the sword, Pig-Keeper. Half a kingdom is in your grasp, seize it now before it is too late."

Gwydion reached out his hand.

Taran flung himself back, his eyes wide with horror. "Lord Gwydion, this is not the counsel of a friend. It is betrayal..."

Only then, as he stared bewildered at this man he had honored since boyhood, did he understand the ruse.

In another instant Taran ripped Dyrnwyn from its sheath and raised the glittering blade.

"Arawn!" Taran gasped, and swung the weapon downward.

Before the blade struck home, the Death-Lord's disguised shape blurred suddenly and vanished. A shadow writhed along the corridor and faded away.

THE COMPANIONS NOW PRESSED into the Great Hall and Taran hurried toward them, crying the warning that Arawm still lived and had escaped.

Achren's eyes blazed with hatred. "Escaped you, Pig-Keeper, but not my vengeance. The secret chambers of Arawn are no secret to me. I shall seek him out wherever he has taken refuge."

Without waiting for the companions, who ran to follow her, Achren set off with all speed down the winding halls. She sprang past a heavy portal which bore the Death-Lord's seal branded deeply in the iron-studded wood. At the far end of the long chamber Taran glimpsed a hunched, spidery figure scuttling to a high, skull-shaped throne.

It was Magg. The Chief Steward's face was ghastly white, his lips trembled and slavered, and his eyes rolled in his head. He stumbled to the foot of the throne, snatched at an object that lay on the flagstones, clutched it to him, and whirled to face the companions.

"No closer!" shrieked Magg, in such a tone that even Achren halted and Taran, about to draw Dyrnwyn from its scabbard, was gripped in horror at Magg's contorted features.

"Will you keep your lives?" Magg cried. "To your knees, then! Humble yourselves and beg mercy.

I, Magg, shall favor you by making you my slaves."

"Your master has abandoned you," replied Taran. "And your own treachery has ended." He strode forward.

Magg's spidery hands thrust out in warning, and Taran saw that the Chief Steward held a strangely wrought crown.

"I am master here," Magg shouted. "I, Magg, Lord of Annuvin. Arawn pledged that I should wear the Iron Crown. Has it slipped from his fingers? It is mine, mine by right and promise!"

"He has gone mad," Taran murmured to Fflewddur, who stared in revulsion as the Chief Steward raised high the crown and gibbered to himself. "Help me take him prisoner!"

"No prisoner shall he be," cried Achren, drawing a dagger from her cloak. "His life is mine for the taking, and he shall die as all who have betrayed me. My vengeance begins here, with a treacherous slave, and next, his master."

"Harm him not," commanded Taran, as the Queen struggled to make her way past him to the throne. "Let him find justice from Gwydion."

Achren fought against him, but Eilonwy and Doli hastened to hold the raging Queen's arms. Taran and the bard strode toward Magg, who flung himself to the seat of the throne.

"Do you tell me Arawn's promises' are lies?" the Chief Steward hissed, fondling and fingering the heavy crown. "It was promised I should wear this. Now it is given into my hands. So shall it be!" Quickly, Magg lifted the crown and set it on his brow.

"Magg!" he shouted. "Magg the Magnificent! Magg the Death-Lord!"

The Chief Steward's triumphant laughter turned to a shriek as he clawed suddenly at the iron-band circling his forehead. Taran and Fflewddur gasped and drew back.

The crown glowed like red iron in a forge. Writhing in agony, Magg clutched vainly at the burning metal which now had turned white hot, and with a last scream toppled from the throne.

Eilonwy cried out and turned her face away.

GURGI AND GLEW HAD LOST TRACK of the companions and were now pelting through the maze of winding corridors trying vainly to find them. Gurgi was terrified at being in the heart of Annuvin and at every step shouted Taran's name. Only the echoes from the torch-lit halls came back to him. Glew was no less fearful. Between gasps, the former giant also found enough breath to complain bitterly.

"It's too much to bear!" he cried. "Too much! Is there no end to the wretched burdens put upon me? Thrown aboard a ship, hustled off to Caer Dallben, half frozen to death, dragged through mountains at the risk of my life, a fortune snatched from my hands! And now this! Oh, when I was a giant I'd not have stood for such high-handed treatment!"

"Oh, giant, leave off pinings and whinings!" replied Gurgi, miserable enough at being separated from the companions. "Gurgi is lost and lorn, but he tries to find kindly master with seekings. Do not fear," he added reassuringly, though it was all he could do to keep his voice from trembling, "bold Gurgi will keep plaintful little giant safe, oh, yes."

"You're not doing very well at it," snapped Glew. Nevertheless, the pudgy little man clung to the side of the shaggy creature and, his stubby legs pumping, matched him stride for stride.

They had come to the end of one corridor where a squat and heavy iron portal stood open. Gurgi fearfully halted. A bright cold light poured from the chamber. Gurgi took a few cautious paces and peered within. Beyond the doorway stretched what seemed to be an endless tunnel. The light came from heaps of precious stones and golden ornaments. Farther on, he glimpsed strange objects half-hidden by shadows. Gurgi drew back, his eyes popping in wonder and terror.

"Oh, it is treasure house of evil Death-Lord," he whispered. "Oh, glimmerings and shimmerings! This is a very secret place and fearsome, and not wise for bold Gurgi to stay."

Glew, however, pressed forward, and at the sight of the gems his pale cheeks twitched and his eyes glittered. "Treasure, indeed!" he said, choking in his excitement. "I've been cheated of one fortune, but now I'll be repaid. It's mine!" he cried. "All of it! I spoke first! No one shall deprive me of it!"

"No, no," protested Gurgi. "It cannot be yours, greedy giant! It is for mighty Prince to give or take. Come with hastenings and seek companions even faster. Come with tellings and warnings, for Gurgi also fears snappings and trappings. Costly treasures without guardings? No, no, clever Gurgi sniffs evil enchantments."

Heedless of the creature's words, Glew thrust him aside. With an eager cry the former giant sprang past the threshold and into the tunnel, where he plunged his hands into the largest heap of jewels. Gurgi, seizing him by the collar, tried vainly to drag him back, as flames burst from the walls of the treasure-trove.

BEFORE THE GREAT HALL OF ANNUVIN, Gwydion rallied the last survivors of the Sons of Don and the Commot horsemen. There the companions, with Kaw squawking jubilantly overhead, joined them. For a moment, Taran stared searchingly at Gwydion, but his doubts vanished when the tall warrior strode quickly to him and clasped his hand.

"We have much to tell each other," Gwydion said, "but no time for the telling. Though Annuvin is in our hands the Death-Lord himself has escaped us. He must be found and slain, if it is in our power to do so."

"Gurgi and Glew are lost in the Great Hall," Taran said. "Give us leave to find them first."

"Go quickly, then," answered Gwydion. "If the Death-Lord is still in Annuvin, their lives are in as much danger as ours."

Taran had unbuckled Dyrnwyn from, his belt and held out the sword to Gwydion. "I understand now why Arawn sought possession of it--- not for his own use but because he knew it threatened his power. Only Dyrnwyn could destroy his Cauldron-Born. Indeed, he dared not even keep it in his stronghold, and believed it harmless buried atop Mount Dragon. When Arawn disguised himself in your shape; he nearly tricked me into giving him the weapon. Take it now. The blade is safer in your hands."

Gwydion shook his head. "You have earned the right to draw it, Assistant Pig-Keeper," he said, "and thus the right to wear it."

"Indeed so!" put in Fflewddur. "It was magnificent the way you struck down that Cauldron-Born. A Fflam couldn't have done better. We're rid of those foul brutes forever."

Taran nodded. "Yet I hate them no longer. It was not their wish to bend in slavery to another's will. Now they are at peace."

"In any case, Hen Wen's prophecy came true after all," Fflewddur said. "Not that I ever doubted it for a moment." He glanced instinctively over his shoulder, but this time there came no jangling of harp strings. "But she did have a curious way of putting things. I still haven't heard any stones speaking."

"I have," answered Taran. "Atop Mount Dragon, the sound from the crest was like a voice. Without it, I'd have paid no heed to the stone. Then, when I saw how hollowed and eaten away it was, I believed I might be able to move it. Yes, Fflewddur, the voiceless stone spoke clearly."

"I suppose so, if you think about it in that way," Eilonwy agreed. "As for Dyrnwyn's flame being quenched, Hen was quite mistaken. Understandably. She was very upset at the time..."

Before the girl could finish, two frightened figures burst from the Great Hall and raced to the companions. Much of Gurgi's hair had been singed away in ragged patches; his shaggy eyebrows were charred and his garments still smouldered. The former giant had fared worse, for he seemed little more than a heap of grime and ashes.

Taran had no time to welcome the lost companions, for the voice of Achren rose in a terrible cry.

"Do you seek Arawn? He is here!"

Achren flung herself at Taran's feet. Taran gasped and froze in horror. Behind him coiled a serpent ready to strike.

Taran sprang aside. Dyrnwyn flashed from its scabbard. Achren had clutched the serpent in both hands, as though to strangle or tear it asunder. The head of the snake darted toward her, the scaly body lashed like a whip, and the fangs sank deep into Achren's throat. With a cry she fell back. In an instant, the serpent coiled again; its eyes glittered with a cold, deadly flame. Hissing in rage, jaws gaping and fangs bared, the serpent shot forward, striking at Taran. Eilonwy screamed. Taran swung the flashing sword with all his strength. The blade clove the serpent in two.

Flinging Dyrnwyn aside, Taran dropped to his knees beside Gwydion, who held the limp body of the Queen. The blood had drained from Achren's lips and her glazed eyes sought Gwydion's face.

"Have I not kept my oath, Gwydion?" she murmured, smiling vaguely. "Is the Lord of Annuvin slain? It is good. My death comes easily upon me." Achren's lips parted as though she would speak again. but her head fell back and her body sagged in Gwydion's arms.

A horrified gasp came from Eilonwy. Taran looked up as the girl pointed to the cloven serpent. Its body writhed, its shape blurred. In its place appeared the black-cloaked figure of a man whose severed head had rolled face downward on the earth. Yet in a m ment this shape too lost its form and the corpse sank like a shadow into the earth; and where it had lain was seared and fallow, the ground wasted, fissured as though by drought. Arawn Death-Lord had vanished.

"The sword!" cried Fflewddur. "Look at the sword!"

Quickly, Taran caught up the blade, but even as he grasped the hilt the flame of Dyrnwyn flickered, as though stirred by a wind. The white brilliance dimmed like a dying fire. Faster then the glow faded, no longer white but filled with swirling colors which danced and trembled. In another moment, Taran's hand held no more than a scarred and battered weapon whose blade glinted dully, not from the flame that once had burned within it but only from the mirrored rays of the setting sun.

Eilonwy, hurrying to his side, called out, "The writing on the scabbard is fading, too. At least I think it is, unless it's just the dim light. Here, let me see better."

She drew the bauble from her cloak and brought it closer to the black scabbard. Suddenly, in the golden rays, the marred inscription glittered.

"My bauble brightens the lettering! There's more than what used to be there!" cried the surprised girl. "Even the part that was scratched out--- I can see most of it now!"

The companions hastily gathered and, while Eilonwy held the bauble Taliesin took the scabbard and scanned it closely.

"The writing is clear, but fading quickly," he said. "Indeed, Princess, your golden light shows what was hidden.

'DRAW DYRNWYN, ONLY THOU OF NOBLE WORTH, TO RULE WITH JUSTICE, TO STRIKE DOWN EVIL. WHO WIELDS IT IN GOOD CAUSE SHALL SLAY EVEN THE LORD OF DEATH.' "

In another moment the inscription had vanished. Taliesin turned the black scabbard back and forth in his hands. "Perhaps now I understand what was only hinted in the lore, that once a mighty king came upon great power and strove to use it for his own advantage. I believe Dyrnwyn was that weapon, turned from its destiny, long lost and found again."

"Dyrnwyn's task is ended," Gwydion said. "Let us leave this evil place."

In death the face of Achren, no longer bitterly haughty, was at last tranquil. Shrouding the woman in her tattered black cloak, the companions bore the body to rest in the Great Hall, for she who had once ruled Prydain had died--- not without honor.

At the pinnacle of the Death-Lord's tower, the dark banner suddenly burst into flames and fell away in blazing shreds. The walls of the Great Hall trembled, and the stronghold shuddered deep within itself.

The companions and the warriors rode from the Iron Portals, behind them the walls shattered and the mighty towers crumbled. A sheet of flame reached skyward from the ruins where Annuvin had stood.

Chapter 20

The Gift

THEY WERE HOME AGAIN. Gwydion had led the companions westward to the coast where the golden ships waited. From there, with Kaw proudly perched on the highest mast, the great vessels with their gleaming sails bore them to Avren harbor. Word of Arawn's destruction had spread swiftly; and even as the companions disembarked, many cantrev lords and their battle hosts gathered to follow the Sons of Don, to do homage to King Gwydion, and to cry greetings to the Commot folk and Taran Wanderer. Gurgi unfurled what remained of the banner of the White Pig and raised it triumphantly.

Yet Gwydion had been strangely silent. And Taran, as, the little farm came into sight, felt more heartache than joy. The winter had broken; thawing earth had begun to stir, and the first, hardly visible traces of green touched the hills like a faint mist. But Taran's eyes went to Coll's empty garden, and he grieved afresh for the stout grower of turnips, far distant in his lonely resting place.

Dallben hobbled out to greet them. The enchanter's face had grown even more deeply lined, his brow seemed fragile, the wrinkled skin almost transparent. Seeing him, Taran sensed that Dallben already knew Coll would not return. Eilonwy ran to his outstretched arms. Taran, leaping from the back of Melynlas, strode after her. Kaw flapped his wings and gabbled at the top of his voice. Fflewddur, Doli, and Gurgi, who looked more than ever patchy and scraggly, hastened to add their greetings, attempting to tell Dallben, all at the same time, what had befallen them.

Hen Wen was squealing, grunting, and wheezing, and very nearly climbing over the bars of the pen. As Taran jumped into the enclosure to fling his arms about the delighted pig, he suddenly heard shrill squeakings and his jaw dropped in surprise.

Eilonwy, who had hurried to the enclosure, gave a joyful cry. "Piglets!"

Six small pigs, five white as Hen Wen and one black stood squealing on their hind legs beside their mother. Hen Wen chuckled and grunted proudly.

"We have had visitors," said Dallben. "One of them a very handsome boar. During the winter, when there was much stirring among the forest creatures, he came seeking food and shelter, and found Caer Dallben more to his liking than the woods. He is roaming about somewhere now; for he is still a little wild and unused to so many new arrivals."

"Great Belin!" cried Fflewddur. "Seven oracular pigs! Taran, my friend, your tasks will be harder than they were in the Hills of Bran-Galedd."

Dallben shook his head. "Sturdy and healthy they are, and as fine a litter as I have seen, but their powers are no greater than those of any other pig--- which should be quite enough to satisfy them. Hen Wen's own gift began to fade when the letter sticks shattered and now is gone past recall. It is for the best; such power is a heavy burden, for men as well as pigs, and I daresay she is much happier now."

For two days, the companions rested, grateful and content to be together in the peacefulness of the little farm. The sky had never seemed clearer, filled with happier promise of spring, or greater joy. King Smoit had arrived with his guard of honor, and through a night's feasting the cottage rang with merriment.

Next day Dallben summoned the companions to his chamber, where Gwydion and Taliesin already waited. He peered deeply and kindly at all gathered there, and when he spoke his voice was gentle.

"These have been days of welcome," he said, "but also days of farewell."

A questioning murmur rose from the companions. Taran, with alarm, looked searchingly at Dallben. Fflewddur, however, clapped a hand to his sword and exclaimed, "I knew it would be so! What task remains to be done? Have the gwythaints returned? Is a band of Huntsmen still abroad? Have no fears! A Fflam stands ready!"

Gwydion smiled sadly at the excited bard. "Not so, gallant friend. Like the Huntsmen, the gwythaints have been destroyed. Yet it is true: one task remains. The Sons of Don, their kinsmen and kinswomen, must board the golden ships and set sail for the Summer Country, the land from which we came."

Taran turned to Gwydion as though he had not grasped the High King's words. "How then," he quickly asked, not daring to believe he had heard aright, "the Sons of Don leave Prydain? Must you sail now? To what purpose? How soon shall you return? Shall you not first rejoice in your victory?"

"Our victory is itself the reason for our voyage;" Gwydion answered. "This is a destiny long ago laid upon us: When the Lord of Annuvin shall be overcome, then must the Sons of Don depart forever from Prydain."

"No!" Eilonwy protested. "Not now, of all times!"

"We cannot turn from this ancient destiny," Gwydion replied. "King Fflewddur Fflam, too, must join us, for he is kin to the House of Don."

The bard's face filled with distress. "A Fflam is grateful," he began, "and under ordinary circumstances I should look forward to a sea voyage. But I'm quite content to stay in my own realm. Indeed, dreary though it is, I've found myself rather missing it."

Taliesin spoke then. "It is not for you to choose, Son of Godo. But know that the Summer Country is a fair land, fairer even than Prydain, and one where all heart's desires are granted. Llyan shall be with you. A new harp you shall have. I myself shall teach you the playing of it, and you shall learn all the lore of the bards. Your heart has always been the heart of a true bard, Fflewddur Fflam. Until now, it was unready. Have you given up that which you loved most for the sake of your companions? The harp that awaits you shall be all the more precious, and its strings shall never break.

"Know this, too," Taliesin added. "All men born must die, save those who dwell in the Summer Country. It is a land without strife or suffering, where even death itself is unknown."

"There is yet another destiny laid upon us," Dallben said. "As the Sons of Don must return to their own land, so must there come an end to my own powers. I have long pondered the message Hen Wen's last letter stick might have given us. It is clear to me now why the ash rods shattered. They could not with stand such a prophecy, which could only have been this: Not only shall the flame of Dyrnwyn be quenched and its power vanish, but all enchantments shall pass away, and men unaided guide their own destiny.

"I, too, voyage to the Summer Country," Dallben continued. "I do so with sorrow but with even greater joy. I am an old man and weary, and for me there shall be rest and a laying down of burdens which have grown all too heavy upon my shoulders.

"Doli, alas, must return to the realm of the Fair Folk, and so must Kaw," the enchanter went on. "The wayposts are being abandoned. King Eiddileg will soon command the barring of all passages into his kingdom, just as Medwyn has already closed his valley forever to the race of men, allowing only the animals to find their way to him."

Doli bowed his head. "Humph!" he snorted. "It's about time to stop dealing with mortals. Only leads to trouble. Yes, I'll be glad enough to go back. I've had my fill of good-old-Doli this and good-old-Doli that, and good-old-Doli would you mind turning invisible just once more!" The dwarf strove to look as furious as he could, but there were tears in his bright red eyes.

"Even the Princess Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad must voyage to the Summer Country," Dallben said. "So it must be," he went on, as Eilonwy gasped in disbelief. "At Caer Colur, the Princess gave up only the usage of her magical powers. They are still within her, as they have been handed down to all daughters of the House of Llyr. Therefore must she depart. However," he went on quickly, before Eilonwy could interrupt, "there are others who have well-served the Sons of Don: faithful Gurgi; Hen Wen, too, in her own fashion; and Taran of Caer Dallben. It is their reward that they may journey with us."

"Yes, yes!" shouted Gurgi. "All go to land of no sighings and no dyings!" He bounded joyously and waved his arms in the air, shedding a good portion of what hair remained to him. "Yes, oh yes! All together forever! And Gurgi, too, will find what he seeks. Wisdom for his poor tender head!"

Taran's heart leaped as he cried out Eilonwy's name and hastened to the side of the Princess to take her in his arms. "We shall not part again. In the Summer Country we shall be wed---" He stopped short. "If--- if that is your wish. If you will wed an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"Well, indeed," replied Eilonwy, "I wondered if you'd ever get round to asking. Of course I will, and if you'd given half a thought to the question you'd have already known my answer."

Taran's head still spun from the enchanter's tidings, and he turned to Dallben. "Can this be true? That Eilonwy and I may voyage together?"

Dallben said nothing for a moment, then he nodded. "It is true. No greater gift lies in my power to grant."

Glew snorted. "That's all very well, bestowing never-ending life right and left. Even on a pigl But no one's given a thought to me. Selfishness! Lack of consideration! It's plain that if that Fair Folk mine hadn't come tumbling down--- robbing me of my fortune, I might add--- we'd have taken a different path, we'd never have gone to Mount Dragon, Dyrnwyn would never have been found, the Cauldron-Born never slain..." For all his indignation, however, the former giant's brow puckered wretchedly and his lips trembled. "Go, by all means! Let me stay this ridiculous size! I assure you, when I was a giant..."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi shouted. "Whining giant, too, has served, even as he says. It is not fair to leave him lone and lost in smallness! And in treasure house of evil Death-Lord, when all rich treasures fall in flames, a life was saved from hot and hurtful blazings!"

"Yes, even Glew has served, though all unwitting," Dallben replied. "His reward shall be no less than yours. In the Summer Country he may grow, if he so desires, to the stature of a man. But do you tell me," Dallben said, looking sternly at Gurgi, "that he saved your life?"

Gurgi hesitated a moment. Before he could answer, Glew quickly spoke. "Of course he didn't," said the former giant. "A life was saved. Mine. If he hadn't pulled me out of the treasure house I'd be no more than a cinder in Annuvin."

"At least you've told the truth, giant!" cried Fflewddur. "Good for you! Great Belin, I think you've already grown a little taller!"

Gwydion stepped forward and gently put his hand on Taran's shoulder. "Our time is soon upon us," he said quietly. "In the morning, we shall depart. Make ready, Assistant Pig-Keeper."

That night Taran drowsed fitfully. The joy that so lightened his heart had strangely flown, fluttering out of reach like a bird of brilliant plumage he could not lure back to his hand. Even thoughts of Eilonwy, of happiness awaiting them in the Summer Country could not regain it.

At last he rose from his pallet and stood, uneasy, by the chamber window. The campfires of the Sons of Don had burned to ashes. The full moon turned the sleeping fields to a sea of silver. From far beyond the hills a voice began to lift in song, faint but clear; another joined it, then still others. Taran caught his breath. Only once, long ago in the Fair Folk realm, had he heard such singing. Now, more beautiful than he remembered, the song swelled, in a long flood of melody shimmering brighter than the moonbeams. Suddenly it ended. Taran cried out in sorrow, knowing he would never hear its like again. And, perhaps in his own imaginings there echoed from every corner of the land the sound of heavy portals closing.

"What, sleepless, my chicken?" said a voice behind him.

He turned quickly. Light filling the chamber dazzled him, but as his vision cleared he saw three tall and slender figures; two garbed in robes of shifting colors, of white, gold, and flaming crimson; and one hooded in a cloak of glittering black. Gems sparkled in the tresses of the first, at the throat of the second hung a necklace of shining white beads. Taran saw their faces were calm, beautiful to heartbreak, and though the dark hood shadowed the features of the last, Taran knew she could be no less fair.

"Sleepless and speechless, too," said the middle figure. "Tomorrow, poor dear, instead of dancing with joy he'll be yawning."

"Your voices--- I know them well," Taran stammered, barely able to speak above a whisper. "But your faces--- yes, once have I seen them, a time long past, in the Marshes of Morva. Yet you cannot be the same. Orddu? Orwen, and--- Orgoch?"

"Of course we are, my gosling," Orddu replied, "though it's true whenever you met us before we were hardly at our best."

"But good enough for the purpose," Orgoch muttered from the depths of her hood.

Orven giggled girlishly and toyed with her beads. "You mustn't think we look like ugly old hags all the time," she said. "Only when the circumstances seem to require it."

"Why have you come?" Taran began, still baffled at the familiar tones of the enchantresses coming from such fair shapes. "Do you, too, journey to the Summer Country?"

Orddu shook her head. "We are journeying, but not with you. Salt air makes Orgoch queasy, though it's very likely the only thing that does. We travel to--- well--- anywhere. You might even say everywhere."

"You shall see no more of us, nor we of you," added Orwen; almost regretfully. "We shall miss you. As much, that is, as we can miss anyone. Orgoch especially would have loved to--- well, best not to dwell on that."

Orgoch gave a most ungentle snort. Orddu, meanwhile, had unfolded a length of brightly woven tapestry and held it out to Taran.

"We came to bring you this, my duckling," she said. "Take it and pay no heed to Orgoch's grumbling. She'll have to swallow her disappointment--- for lack of anything better."

"I have seen this on your loom," Taran said, more than a little distrustful. "Why do you offer it to me? I do not ask for it, nor can I pay for it."

"It is yours by right, my robin," answered Orddu. "It does come from our loom, if you insist on strictest detail, but it was really you who wove it."

Puzzled, Taran looked more closely at the fabric and saw it crowded with images of men and women, of warriors and battles, of birds and animals. "These," he murmured in wonder, "these are of my own life."

"Of course," Orddu replied. "The pattern is of your choosing and always was."

"My choosing?" Taran questioned. "Not yours? Yet I believed..." He stopped and raised his eyes to Orddu. "Yes," he said slowly, "once I did believe the world went at your bidding. I see now it is not so. The strands of life are not woven by three hags or even by three beautiful damsels. The pattern indeed was mine. But here," he added, frowning as he scanned the final portion of the fabric where the weaving broke off and the threads fell unraveled, "here it is unfinished."

"Naturally," said Orddu. "You must still choose the pattern, and so must each of you poor, perplexed fledglings, as long as thread remains to be woven."

"But no longer do I see mine clearly," Taran cried. "No longer do I understand my own heart. Why does my grief shadow my joy? Tell me this much. Give me to know this, as one last boon."

"Dear chicken," said Orddu smiling sadly, "when, in truth, did we really give you anything?"

Then they were gone.

Chapter 21

Farewells

THROUGH THE REMAINDER of the night, Taran did not move from the window. The unfinished weaving lay at his feet. By dawn, a still greater number of Commot folk and cantrev nobles came to throng the fields and hillsides around Caer Dallben, for it had become known the Sons of Don were departing Prydain, and with them the Daughters of Don who had journeyed from the eastern strongholds. At last Taran stirred and made his way to Dallben's chamber.

The companions were already gathered, even Doli, who had flatly refused to set out for the Fair Folk realm without taking a last leave of each and every friend. Kaw, quiet for once, perched on the dwarf's shoulder. Glew seemed excited and pleased to be on his way. Taliesin and Gwydion stood near Dallben, who had donned a heavy travel cloak and bore an ashwood staff. Under his arm the enchanter carried The Book of Three.

"Kindly master, hasten!" shouted Gurgi, as Llyan at Fflewddur's side twitched her tail impatiently. "All are ready for floatings and boatings!"

Taran's eyes went to the faces of the companions; to Eilonwy, who was watching him eagerly; to the weathered features of Gwydion, and the face of Dallben, furrowed with wisdom. Never had he loved each of them more than at this moment. He did not speak until he came to stand before the old enchanter

"Never shall I have greater honor than the gift you offer me," Taran said. The words came slowly, yet he forced himself to continue. "Last night my heart was troubled. I dreamed that Orddu--- no, it was not a dream. She was indeed here. And I have seen for myself your gift is one I cannot take."

Gurgi's yelping stopped short and he stared at Taran with wide and unbelieving eyes.

The companions started and Eilonwy cried out, "Taran of Caer Dallben, do you have any idea what you're saying? Has the flame of Dyrnwyn scorched your wits?" Suddenly her voice caught in her throat. She bit her lips and turned quickly away. "I understand. In the Summer Country we were to be wed. Do you still question my heart? It has not changed. It is your heart that has changed toward mine."

Taran dared not look at Eilonwy, for his grief was too keen in him. "You are wrong, Princess of Llyr," he murmured. "I have long loved you, and loved you even before I knew that I did. If my heart breaks to part from our companions, it breaks twice over to part from you. Yet, so it must be. I cannot do otherwise."

"Think carefully, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Dallben said sharply. "Once taken, your choice cannot be recalled. Will you dwell in sorrow instead of happiness? Will you refuse not only joy and love but neverending life?"

Taran did not answer for a long moment. When at last, he did, his voice was heavy with regret, yet his words were clear and unfaltering.

"There are those more deserving of your gift than I, yet never may it be offered them. My life is bound to theirs. Coll Son of Collfrewr's garden and orchard lie barren, waiting for a hand to quicken them. My skill is less than his, but I give it willingly for his sake.

"The seawall at Dinas Rhydnant is unfinished," Taran continued. "Before the King of Mona's burial mound I vowed not to leave his task undone."

From his jacket Taran drew the fragment of pottery. "Shall I forget Annlaw Clay-Shaper? Commot Merin and others like it? I cannot restore life to Llonio Son of Llonwen and those valiant folk who followed me, never to see their homes again. Nor can I mend the hearts of widows and orphaned children. Yet if it is in my power to rebuild even a little of what has been broken, this must I do.

"The Red Fallows once were a fruitful place. With labor, perhaps they shall be so again." He turned and spoke to Taliesin. "Caer Dathyl's proud halls lie in ruins, and with them the Hall of Lore and the treasured wisdom of the bards. Have you not said that memory lives longer than what it remembers? But what if memory be lost? If there are those who will help me, we will raise the fallen stones and regain the treasure of memory."

"Gurgi will help! He will not voyage, no, no!" Gurgi wailed. "He stays always. He wants no gift that takes him from kindly master!"

Taran put a hand on the creature's arm. "You must journey with the others. Do you call me master? Obey me, then, in one last command. Find the wisdom you yearn for. It awaits you in the Summer Country. Whatever I may find, I must seek it here."

Eilonwy bowed her head. "You have chosen as you must, Taran of Caer Dallben."

"Nor will I gainsay you," Dallben said to Taran, "but only warn you. The tasks you set yourself are cruelly difficult. There is no certainty you will accomplish even one, and much risk you will fail in all of them. In either case, your efforts may well go unrewarded, unsung, forgotten. And at the end, like all mortals, you must face your death; perhaps without even a mound of honor to mark your resting place."

Taran nodded. "So be it," he said. "Long ago I yearned to be a hero without knowing, in truth, what a hero was. Now, perhaps, I understand it a little better. A grower of turnips or a shaper of clay, a Commot farmer or a king--- every man is a hero if he strives more for others than for himself alone. Once," he added, "you told me that the seeking counts more than the finding. So, too, must the striving count more than the gain.

"Once, I hoped for a glorious destiny," Taran went on, smiling at his own memory. "That dream has vanished with my childhood; and though a pleasant dream it was fit only for a child. I am well-content as an Assistant Pig-Keeper."

"Even that contentment shall not be yours," Dallben said. "No longer are you Assistant Pig-Keeper, but High King of Prydain."

Taran caught his breath and stared with disbelief at the enchanter. "You jest with me," he murmured. "Have I been prideful that you would mock me by calling me King?"

"Your worth was proved when you drew Dyrnwyn from its sheath," Dallben said, "and your kingliness when you chose to remain here. It is not a gift I offer you now, but a burden far heavier than any you have borne."

"Then why must I bear it?" cried Taran. "I am an Assistant Pig-Keeper and such have I always been."

"It has been written in The Book of Three," Dallben answered, and raised his hand for silence before Taran could speak again. "I dared not tell you this. To give you such knowledge would have defeated the prophecy itself. Until this very moment, I was not sure you were the one chosen to rule. Indeed, yesterday I feared you were not." "

"How then?" Taran asked. "Could The Book of Three deceive you?"

"No, it could not," Dallben said. "The book is thus called because it tells all three parts of our lives: the past, the present, and the future. But it could as well be called a book of 'if.' If you had failed at your tasks; if you had followed an evil path; if you had been slain; if you had not chosen as you did--- a thousand 'ifs,' my boy, and many times a thousand. The Book of Three can say no more than 'if' until at the end, of all things that might have been, one alone becomes what really is. For the deeds of a man, not the words of a prophecy, are what shape his destiny."

"I understand now why you kept my parentage a secret," Taran said. "But shall I never be given to know it?"

"I did not keep it secret from you entirely through my own wish," Dallben answered. "Nor do I keep it so now. Long ago, when The Book of Three first came into my hands, from its pages I learned that when the Sons of Don departed from Prydain the High King would be one who slew a serpent, who gained and lost a flaming sword, who chose a kingdom of sorrow over a kingdom of happiness. These prophecies were clouded, even to me; and darkest was the prophecy that he who would come to rule Prydair would be one of no station in life.

"Long did I ponder these things," Dallben continued. "At last, I left Caer Dallben to seek this future king and to hasten his coming. For many years I searched, yet all whom I questioned well knew their station, whether shepherd or war leader, cantrev lord or Commot farmer.

"The seasons turned; kings rose and fell, wars turned to peace, and peace to war. Indeed, on a certain time, as many years ago as you yourself have years, a grievous war was upon the land, and I despaired of my quest and turned my steps once more toward Caer Dallben. On that day I chanced to pass a field where a battle had raged. Many lay slain, noble as well as humble folk; even the women and children had not been spared.

"From the forest nearby I heard a piercing cry. An infant had been hidden among the trees, as though his mother had sought, at the last, to keep him safe. From his wrappings I could judge nothing of his parentage and only sensed with certainty that both mother and father lay upon that field of the slain.

"Here, surely, was one of no station in life, an unknown babe of unknown kin. I bore the child with me to Caer Dallben. The name I gave him was Taran.

"I could not have told you of your parentage, even had I wished to," Dallben continued, "for I knew it no more than you did. My secret hope I shared only with two others: Lord Gwydion and Coll. As you grew to manhood, so our hopes grew, though never could we be certain you were the child born to be High King.

"Until now, my boy," said Dallben, "you were always a great 'perhaps.' "

"What was written has come to pass," Gwydion said. "And now in truth we must say farewell."

The chamber was silent. Llyan, sensing the bard's distress, nuzzled him gently. The companions did not move. It was Glew who stepped forward and spoke first.

"I've been carrying this with me ever since I was so shabbily hustled away from Mona," he said, drawing from his jacket a small blue crystal which he pressed into Taran's hand. "It reminded me of my cavern and those grand days when I was a giant. But for some reason I don't want to be reminded of them any longer. Since I don't want it--- here, take it as a small remembrance of me."

"He's still hardly the most generous spirit in the world," muttered Fflewddur, "but I've no doubt it's the first time he's ever given anybody anything. Great Belin, I swear the little fellow's actually grown' another inch!"

Doli had taken the handsomely crafted axe from his belt. "You'll need this," he told Taran, "and it should serve you well in many tasks. It's Fair Folk quality, my lad, and you'll not blunt it easily."

"It can serve me no better than did its owner," Taran replied, clasping the dwarf's hand, "and its metal cannot be as true as your own heart. Good old Doli..."

"Humph!" The dwarf snorted furiously. "Good old Doli! I've heard that somewhere before."

Kaw, on Doli's shoulder, bobbed up and down while Taran gently ran a finger over the crow's sleek feathers.

"Farewell," Kaw croaked. "Taran! Farewell!"

"Farewell to you," Taran answered, smiling. "If I have despaired of teaching you good manners, I have rejoiced in your bad ones. You are a rogue and a scamp, and a very, eagle among crows."

Llyan had padded up to rub her head affectionately against Taran's arm, which she did so vigorously that the enormous cat nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Bear my friend good company," Taran said, stroking Llyan's ears. "Cheer him with your purring when his spirits are low, as I wish you might cheer me. Stray not far from him, for even such a bold bard as Fflewddur Fflam is no stranger to loneliness."

Fflewddur himself had drawn near, and in his hand held the harp string he had taken from the fire. The heat of the flame had caused the string to curl and twine in a curious pattern that seemed without beginning or end, constantly changing as from one melody to another even as Taran looked at it.

"I'm afraid it's all that's left of the old pot," Fflewddur said, offering the string to Taran. "Truthfully, I'm just as well pleased. It was forever jangling and going out of tune..." He paused, glanced behind him nervously, and cleared his throat. "Ah--- what I meant to say was that I shall miss those snapping strings."

"No more than I shall miss them," Taran said. "Remember me as well and fondly as I remember you."

"Have no fear!" cried the bard. "There's still songs to be sung and tales to be told. A Fflam never forgets!"

"Alas, alas!" wailed Gurgi. "Poor Gurgi has nothing to give kindly master for fond rememberings. Woe and misery! Even wallet of crunchings and munchings now is empty!"

The tearful creature suddenly clapped his hands together.

"Yes, yes! Forgetful Gurgi has one gift. Here, here it is. From burning treasure house of wicked Death-Lord, bold Gurgi seized it with catchings and snatchings. But his poor tender head was so filled with fearful spinnings that he forgot!"

With this, Gurgi drew from his leather pouch a small, flame scarred, battered coffer of unknown metal and held it out to Taran, who took it, studied it curiously, then broke the heavy seal which kept it locked.

The coffer held no more than a number of thin, closely written parchments. Taran's eyes widened as he scanned them, and he turned quickly to Gurgi.

"Do you know what you have found?" he whispered. "Here are the secrets of forging and tempering metals, of shaping and firing pottery, of planting and cultivating. This is what Arawn stole long ago and kept from the race of men. This knowledge is itself a priceless treasure."

"Perhaps the most precious of all," said Gwydion, who had come to study the parchments in Taran's hand. "The flames of Annuvin destroyed the enchanted tools that labored of themselves and would have given carefree idleness. These treasures are far worthier, for their use needs skill and strength of hand and mind."

Fflewddur gave a low whistle. "Who owns these secrets is truly master of Prydain. Taran, old friend, the proudest cantrev lord will be at your beck and call, begging for anything you choose to grant him.

"And Gurgi found it!" shouted Gurgi, springing into the air and madly whirling about. "Yes, oh yes! Bold, clever, faithful, valiant Gurgi always finds things! Once he found a lost piggy and once he found evil black cauldron! Now he finds mighty secrets for kindly master!"

Taran smiled at the excited Gurgi. "Indeed, you have found many mighty secrets. But they are not mine to keep. These will I share with all in Prydain, for by right they belong to all."

"Then share this, as well," said Dallben, who had been listening closely and now held out the heavy, leather-bound volume he had kept under his arm.

"The Book of Three?" Taran said, looking wonderingly and questioningly at the enchanter. "I dare not..."

"Take it, my boy," Dallben said. "It will not blister your fingers, as once it did with an over-curious Assistant Pig-Keeper. All its pages are open to you. The Book of Three no longer foretells what is to come, only what has been. But now can be set down the words of its last page."

The enchanter took a quill from the table, opened the book, and in it wrote with a bold, firm hand:

"And thus did an Assistant Pig-Keeper become High King o f Prydain."

"This, too, is a treasure," said Gwydion. "The Book of Three is now both history and heritage. For my own gift, I could give you nothing greater. Nor do I offer you a crown, for a true king wears his crown in his heart." The tall warrior clasped Taran's hand. "Farewell. We shall not meet again."

"Take Dyrnwyn, then, in remembrance of me," Taran said.

"Dyrnwyn is yours," Gwydion said, "as it was meant to be."

"Yet Arawn is slain," Taran replied. "Evil is conquered and the blade's work done."

"Evil conquered?" said Gwydion. "You have learned much, but learn this last and hardest of lessons. You have conquered only the enchantments of evil. That was the easiest of your tasks, only a beginning, not an ending. Do you believe evil itself to be so quickly overcome? Not so long as men still hate and slay each other, when greed and anger goad them. Against these even a flaming sword cannot prevail, but only that portion of good in all men's hearts whose flame can never be quenched."

Eilonwy, who had been standing in silence, now drew close to Taran. The girl's eyes did not waver from his as she held out the golden sphere.

"Take this," she softly said, "though it does not glow as brightly as the love we might have shared. Farewell, Taran of Caer Dallben. Remember me."

Eilonwy was about to turn away, but suddenly her blue eyes flashed furiously and she stamped her foot. "It's not fair!" she cried. "It's not my fault I was born into a family of enchantresses. I didn't ask for magical powers. That's worse than being made to wear a pair of shoes that doesn't fit! I don't see why I have to keep them!"

"Princess of Llyr," said Dallben "I have waited for you yourself to say those words. Do you truly wish to give up your heritage of enchantment?"

"Of course I do!" Eilonwy cried. "If enchantments are what separates us, then I should be well rid of them!"

"This lies within your power," Dallben said, "within your grasp, and, for the matter of that, upon your finger. The ring you wear, the gift Lord Gwydion gave you long ago, will grant your wish."

"What?" Eilonwy burst out, in both surprise and indignation. "Do you mean to say that all the years I've worn my ring I could have used it to have a wish granted? You told me nothing of it! That's worse than unfair. Why, I could simply have wished to destroy the Black Cauldron! Or to find Dyrnwyn! I could have wished Arawn conquered! Without the least danger! And I never knew!"

"Child, child," Dallben interrupted, "your ring can indeed grant you a wish, and one wish alone. But evil cannot be conquered by wishing. The ring will serve only you, and grant only the deepest wish of your own heart. I did not tell you before because I was uncertain that you truly knew what you longed for.

"Turn the ring once upon your finger," Dallben said. "Wish with all your heart for your enchanted powers to vanish."

Wondering and almost fearful, Eilonwy closed her eyes and did the enchanter's bidding. The ring flared suddenly, but only for a moment. The girl gave a sharp cry of pain. And in Taran's hand the light of the golden bauble winked out.

"It is done," Dallben murmured.

Eilonwy blinked and looked around her. "I don't feel a bit different," she remarked. "Are my enchantments truly gone?"

Dallben nodded. "Yes," he said gently. "Yet you shall always keep the magic, and mystery all women share. And I fear that Taran, like all men, shall be often baffled by it. But, such is the way of it. Come, clasp hands the two of you, and pledge each other your troth."

When they had done so, the companions pressed around the wedded couple to wish them happiness. Then Gwydion and Taliesin went from the cottage and Dallben took up his ashwood staff.

"We can tarry no longer," the enchanter said, "and here our ways must part."

"But what of Hen Wen?" Taran asked. "Shall I not see her one last time?"

"As often as you please," answered Dallben. "Since she was free to go or stay, I know she will choose to remain with you. But I suggest you first let those visitors trampling about the fields see there is a new High King in Prydain, and a new Queen. Gwydion will have proclaimed the tidings and your subjects will be impatient to hail you."

The companions following, Taran and Eilonwy left the chamber. But at the cottage door, Taran drew back and turned to Dallben. "Can one such as I rule a kingdom? I remember a time when I jumped headfirst into a thorn bush and I fear kingship will be no different."

"Very likely more nettlesome," put in Eilonwy. "But should you have any difficulties, I'll be happy to give you my advice. Right now, there's only one question: Are you going in or out of this doorway?"

In the waiting throng beyond the cottage, Taran glimpsed Hevydd, Llassar, the folk of the Commots, Gast and Goryon side by side near the farmer Aeddan, King Smoit towering above them, his beard bright as flame. But many were the well-loved faces he saw clearly only with his heart. A sudden burst of cheering voices greeted him as he took Eilonwy's hand tightly in his own and stepped through the door.

And so they lived many happy years, and the promised tasks were accomplished. Yet long afterward, when all had passed away into distant memory, there were many who wondered whether King Taran, Queen Eilonwy, and their companions had indeed walked the earth, or whether they had been no more than dreams in a tale set down to beguile children. And, in time, only the bards knew the truth of it.

Scanned and Proofed by:

*¤*nihua*¤*

2001-12-02

The End :

The Chronicles of Prydain Book Five

The High King

and The End of

The Chronicles of Prydain

*¤*nihua*¤*