The High King Part 2

"Such is Hen Wen's message as I have read it from the first letter stick," Dallben said. "Whether it is a refusal to speak, a prophecy in itself, or a warning to ask no further, I cannot be sure. But the symbols of the second letter stick spell out the fate of Dyrnwyn itself."

Dallben continued, and the enchanter's words filled Taran with cold anguish that struck deep as a sword thrust:

Quenched will be Dyrnwyn's flame; Vanished, its power.

Night turn to noon And rivers burn with frozen fire Ere Dyrnwyn be regained.

The ancient man bowed his head then and was silent for a time. "The third stick," he said at last, "was destroyed before Hen Wen could complete her message. She might have told us more; but, judging from the first two, we would have cause for no more hope than we have now."

"The prophecies mock us;" Taran said. "Hen told us truly. We could as well have asked stones for help."

"And got as much sense from them!" cried Eilonwy. "Hen could have come straight out and said we'll never get Dyrnwyn back. Night can't be noon, and that's the end of it."

"In all my travels," added Fflewddur, "I've never noticed even a small creek burning, not to mention a river. The prophecy is doubly impossible."

"And yet," said King Rhun, with innocent eagerness, "it would be an amazing thing to see. I wish it could happen!"

"I fear you shall not see it come to pa.s.s, King of Mona," Dallben said heavily.

Gwydion, who had been sitting thoughtfully at the table and turning the splintered rods back and forth in his hands, rose and spoke to the companions.

"Hen Wen's prophecy is disheartening," he said, "and far from what I had hoped. But when prophecies give no help, men must find it of themselves." His hands clenched and snapped the fragment of ash wood. "As long as life and breath are mine, I will seek Dyrnwyn. The prophecy does not change my plans, but makes them only more urgent."

"Then let us go with you," Taran said, rising to face Gwydion. "Take our strength until your own returns."

"Exactly so!" Fflewddur jumped to his feet. "I'll pay no heed whether rivers burn or not. Ask stones to speak? I'll ask Arawn himself. He'll keep no secrets from a Fflam!"

Gwydion shook his head. "In this task, the more men the greater risk. It is done best alone. If any life be staked against Arawn Death-Lord, it must be mine."

Taran bowed, for Gwydion's tone forbade dispute. "If such is your will," he said. "But what if Kaw were to fly ahead to Annuvin? Send him first. He will go swiftly and bring back whatever knowledge he can gain."

Gwydion looked shrewdly at Taran and nodded approval. "You have found some wisdom in your wanderings, a.s.sistant Pig-Keeper. Your plan is sound. Kaw may serve me better than all your swords. But I shall not await him here. To do so would cost me too much time. Let him spy out Annuvin as far as he is able, then find me at King Smoit's castle in Cantrev Cadiffor. Smoit's realm lies on my path to Annuvin, and thus my journey will be half accomplished when Kaw rejoins me."

"At least we can ride with you as far as King Smoit's castle," Taran said, "and guard you until you are well on your way. Between here and Cantrev Cadiffor, Arawn's Huntsmen may be abroad, still seeking your death."

"The foul villains!" cried the bard. "Treacherous murderers! They'll have a taste of my sword this time. Let them attack us. I hope they do!" A harp string snapped with a loud crack that set the instrument a-jangling. "Ah, yes-well-that's only a manner of speaking," Fflewddur said sheepishly. "I hope we don't come upon them at all. They could be troublesome and delay our journey."

"No one has considered the inconvenience to me me," said Glew. The former giant had come out of the scullery and looked peevishly around him.

"Weasel!" muttered Fflewddur. "Dyrnwyn is gone, we don't know if our lives are at stake, and he frets about inconvenience. He's a little man indeed, and always was."

"Since no one has mentioned it," said Eilonwy, "it seems I'm not being asked to come along. Very well, I shan't insist."

"You, too, have gained wisdom, Princess," said Dallben. "Your days on Mona were not ill-spent."

"Of course," Eilonwy went on, "after you leave, the thought may strike me that it's a pleasant day for a short ride to go picking wildflowers which might be hard to find, especially since it's almost winter. Not that I'd be following you, you understand. But I might, by accident, lose my way, and mistakenly happen to catch up with you. By then, it would be too late for me to come home, through no fault of my own."

Gwydion's haggard face broke into a smile. "So be it, Princess. What I cannot prevent, I accept. Ride with me, all those who choose, but no farther than Smoit's stronghold at Caer Cadarn.''

"Ah, Princess," Coll sighed, shaking his head. "I will not gainsay Lord Gwydion, whatever. But it is hardly the conduct of a young lady to force her own way thus."

"Certainly not," Eilonwy agreed. "That's the first thing Queen Teleria taught me: A lady doesn't insist on having her own way. Then, next thing you know, it all works out somehow, without one's even trying. I thought I'd never learn, though it's really quite easy once you get the knack."

Without further delay, Taran lifted Kaw from his fireside perch and carried him to the dooryard. This time the crow did not clack his beak or gabble impudently. Instead of his customary scoldings, hoa.r.s.e quackings, and mischievous foolery. Kaw hunched on Taran's wrist and c.o.c.ked a beady, attentive eye, listening closely while Taran carefully explained the task.

Taran raised his arm and Kaw flapped his glossy wings in farewell.

"Annuvin!" Kaw croaked. "Dyrnwyn!"

The crow flew aloft. Within moments Kaw was high over Caer Dallben. The wind bore him like a leaf, and he hung poised above the watching companions. Then, with a roguish flirt of his wings, Kaw sped northwestward. Taran strained his eyes to follow his flight until the crow vanished into the looming clouds. In sadness and disquiet, Taran at last turned away. Kaw, he was sure, would be alert to the perils of the journey: the arrows of the Huntsmen; the cruel talons and slashing beaks of the gwythaints, Arawn's fierce winged messengers. More than once had gwythaints attacked the companions, and even the fledglings could be dangerous.

Taran recalled, from his boyhood, the young gwythaint whose life he had saved, and he well remembered the bird's sharp claws. Despite Kaw's gallant heart and sharp wits, Taran feared for the safety of the crow; and feared, still more, for Gwydion's quest. And to him came the foreboding that an even heavier fate might ride on Kaw's outspread wings.

It had been agreed that when the travelers neared Great Avren, King Rhun would escort the disgruntled Glew to the ship anch.o.r.ed in the river, there to await his return, for Rhun was determined to ride with Gwydion to Caer Cadarn. Glew liked neither cooling his heels on the swaying vessel nor sleeping on the hard pebbles of the sh.o.r.e; but the protests of the former giant could not move the King of Mona to change his plan.

While Gwydion held a last, hurried council with Dallben, the companions began leading the horses from the stable. The wise Melyngar, Gwydion's white, golden-maned steed, waited calmly for her master. Melynlas, Taran's stallion, snorted and impatiently pawed the ground.

Eilonwy was already mounted on her favorite, the bay mare Lluagor. In a fold of her cloak the Princess carried her most treasured possession: the golden sphere that glowed brightly when she cupped it in her hands.

"I'm leaving that uncomfortable crown behind," Eilonwy declared. "There's no use for it at all, except to hold down your hair, and that's hardly worth the blisters. But I'd sooner walk on my hands than go without my bauble. Besides, if we need a light, we shall have one. That's much more practical than a hoop on top of your head." In a saddlebag, she had packed the embroidery made for Taran, intending to finish it along the way. "Perhaps," Eilonwy added, "I might fix the color of Hen Wen's eyes while I'm at it."

Fflewddur's mount was the huge, tawny cat, Llyan, herself tall as a horse. Seeing the bard, she purred loudly, and Fflewddur could barely keep the powerful animal from knocking him down with her nuzzling.

"Gently, old girl," cried the bard, as Llyan thrust her great head between his neck and, shoulder. "I know you want a tune on my harp. I shall play one later, I promise you."

Glew had recognized Llyan immediately. "That's not fair," he sniffed. "By all rights she belongs to me."

"Yes," replied Fflewddur, "if you count feeding her those vile lotions you once brewed to make her grow bigger. If you dare to ride her, you're welcome to try. Though I warn you-Llyan has a memory longer than her tail."

Llyan, indeed, had begun lashing her tail at the sight of Glew. She towered over the pudgy little man, her yellow eyes blazed, her whiskers twitched, her tufted ears went flat against her head; and from her throat came a sound quite unlike her greeting to the bard.

Fflewddur quickly strummed a melody on his harp. Llyan turned her eyes from Glew and her mouth curved in an enormous smile and she blinked fondly at the bard.

However, Glew's pale face had gone paler and he edged away from the cat. "When I was a giant," Glew muttered, "things were considerably better managed."

King Rhun saddled his dapple gray steed. Since Coll, who had also decided to accompany Gwydion, would ride the sorrel mare Llamrei, foal of Melynlas and Lluagor, Glew had no choice but to climb up behind Gurgi on his s.h.a.ggy pony-a companionship unwelcome to all three. Taran, meanwhile, helped Coll rummage in the stables, forge, and tool sheds for weapons.

"Few enough of them there are," said Coll. "These spears have served me well as beanpoles," the stout warrior added. "I had hoped never to use them for another purpose. Alas, the only blade I can give Gwydion is rusted from propping up one of the apple trees. As for helmets, there are none save my leather cap; and the sparrows have a nest in it. I shall not disturb them. But my own old pate is tough as leather," Coll said, winking. "It can last me to Caer Cadarn and back.

"And you, my lad," Coll went on cheerfully, though he had not failed to notice Taran's troubled frown, "I remember a day when an a.s.sistant Pig-Keeper would have been all flash and fire to ride with Lord Gwydion. Now you look as glum as a frostbitten turnip."

Taran smiled. "I myself would ride to Annuvin, if Gwydion allowed me. What you say is true, old friend. For the boy I was, this would have been a bold adventure, full of glory. This much have I learned: A man's life weighs more than glory, and a price paid in blood is a heavy reckoning.

"My heart is not easy," Taran added. "Long ago, you made your way to Annuvin, to rescue Hen Wen after she had been stolen from you. Tell me: What chance has Gwydion alone in Arawn's realm?"

"No man has better," said Coll, shouldering the spears. And he was gone from the shed before Taran realized the old warrior had not really answered him at all.

Caer Dallben lay far behind them and the day was darkening when the companions made camp deep in the shadows of the forest.

Eilonwy happily flung herself to the ground. "It's been long since I've slept on comfortable roots and rocks!" she cried. "What a pleasant change from goosefeathers!"

Gwydion allowed a fire to be built; and while Coll saw to the mounts, Gurgi opened his wallet of food to share out provisions. For the most part the companions were silent, chilled, and stiff after the long day's journey. King Rhun, however, had lost none of his good spirits. As the travelers huddled closer to the pale flames, Rhun picked up a twig and scratched busily in the earth, covering the ground before him with a spider web of lines.

"About that seawall," said Rhun. "I think I see how it went wrong. Yes, exactly so. Now, here's the way to do it."

From across the fire Taran saw Rhun's eyes brightly eager and on his face the familiar boyish grin. But Rhun, Taran sensed, was no longer the f.e.c.kless princeling he had known on the Isle of Mona. As Rhun was absorbed in the tasks he had planned, so Taran had been caught up in his own labors at forge, loom, and potter's wheel. And if Rhun had found manhood in ruling a kingdom, Taran had found the same in toiling among the staunch folk of the Free Commots. He watched Rhun with new affection. The King of Mona spoke on and Taran's interest was drawn to the scratchings on the ground. He studied them as Rhun continued. Taran smiled. One thing had not changed, he realized; as usual, the King of Mona's intentions went somewhat beyond the King of Mona's skill.

"I fear your wall may tumble if you build it thus," Taran said with a kindly laugh. "See this part here." He pointed. "The heavier stones must be sunk deeper. And here..."

"Amazing!" exclaimed Rhun, snapping his fingers. "Quite right! You shall come to Mona and help me finish it!" He began scratching new lines so vigorously he nearly pitched himself into the fire.

"Oh, great and kindly master!" cried Gurgi, who had been listening closely without altogether understanding what the two comrades had been discussing. "Oh, clever scannings and plannings! Gurgi wishes he, too, had wisdom of wise speakings!"

Gwydion warned them to silence. "Our fire is risk enough, without adding noise to it. I can only hope Arawn's Huntsmen are not abroad. We are too few to withstand even a handful of them. They are not common warriors," Gwydion added, seeing Rhun's questioning expression, "but an evil brotherhood. Slay one of their band, and the strength of the others grows that much greater."

Taran nodded. "They are as much to be feared as the Cauldron-Born," he cautioned Rhun, "the deathless, voiceless creatures that guard Annuvin. Perhaps more to be feared. The Cauldron-Born cannot be slain, yet their power dwindles if they journey too far, or stay too long beyond Arawn's realm."

Rhun blinked and Gurgi fell silent, glancing behind him uncomfortably. Memory of the ruthless Cauldron-Born turned Taran's thoughts once more to Hen Wen's prophecy. "The flame of Dyrnwyn quenched," Taran murmured. "Yet how shall Arawn achieve this? For all his power, I will not believe he can even draw the blade."

"Prophecy is more than the words that shape it," Gwydion said. "Seek the meaning that underlies it. For us, the flame of Dyrnwyn will be as good as quenched if Arawn keeps it from my hands. Its power will indeed vanish, for all it may avail us, should the blade be locked forever in his treasure h.o.a.rd."

"Treasure?" said Glew, stopping his munching only long enough to speak the word.

"The Death-Lord's domain is as much a treasure-house as a stronghold of evil," Gwydion said. "Long has it been filled with all the fair and useful things Arawn has stolen from Prydain. These treasures do not serve him; his purpose is to deprive, to keep their use from men, to sap our strength by denying us what might yield a richer harvest than any of us here has known." Gwydion paused. "Is this not death in but another guise?"

"I have been told," Taran said, "the treasure troves of Annuvin hold all that men could wish for. Plows, there are said to be, that work of themselves, scythes that reap with no hand to guide them, magical tools and more," Taran went on. "For Arawn stole the craft secrets of metalsmiths and potters, the lore of herdsmen and farmers. This knowledge, too, lies locked forever in his h.o.a.rd."

Glew sucked his teeth. The morsel of food stayed untouched in his chubby fingers. For a long while he said nothing. At last he cleared his throat "I mean to forgive your slights and humiliations. It would not have happened when I was a giant, I a.s.sure you. But no matter. I pardon you all. In token of my good will, I too shall journey with you."

Gwydion looked at him sharply. "Perhaps you shall," he said quietly after a time.

"No question of it now!" Fflewddur snorted. "The little weasel hopes to sniff out something for himself. I can see his nose trembling! I never thought the day would come when I should want him at our side. But I think that's safer than having him at our backs."

Glew smiled blandly. "I forgive you, too," he said.

CHAPTER 4.

KING S SMOIT'S C CASTLE AT DAWN, KING RHUN made ready to part from the companions and ride farther westward to Avren Harbor, where he would advise his shipmaster of the change in plans. Fflewddur was to accompany him, for the bard knew the shallow fording places across the river and the swiftest paths on the opposite bank.

Eilonwy had decided to go with them. "I've forgotten half my embroidery thread in Rhun's ship, and must have it if I'm to finish Hen Wen properly. Neither of you can find it, for I'm not sure myself where it might be. I believe I've left a warmer traveling cloak, too; and a few other things-I don't remember what they are right now, but I'm bound to think of them once I get there."

Coll grinned and rubbed his bald crown. "The Princess," he remarked, "becomes more the lady in every way."

"Since I'm not staying on the ship," said Glew, whose decision of the night before remained unshaken, "I see no reason to be taken, out of my way. I shall follow with Lord Gwydion."

"That, my puny giant, is where you're wrong," the bard replied. "Mount up behind the King of Mona, if he can stand your company, and be quick about it. Don't think I'll let you out of my sight for a moment. Where I go, you go. And the other way around, too, for the matter of that."

"Surely, Fflewddur," Taran said, drawing the bard aside, "Glew can't trouble us. I myself shall watch over him."

The bard shook his tousled, yellow head. "No, my friend. I'll be easier in my mind if I see him with my own eyes. And at all times. No, the little weasel is in my charge. Ride on ahead, and we'll catch up with you on the other side of Avren well before midday.

"I'll be glad to see Smoit again," Fflewddur added. "That red-bearded old bear is dear to my heart. We shall feast well at Caer Cadarn, for Smoit eats as bravely as he fights."

Gwydion had already mounted Melyngar and signaled them to hasten. Fflewddur clapped Taran on the shoulder and ran to climb astride Llyan, who was frisking gaily in the bright, cold sun and pouncing at the tip of her own tail.

King Rhun, Fflewddur, Eilonwy, and Glew soon were out of sight. Bearing westward, Taran rode between Gwydion and Coll, while Gurgi, on his pony, trotted at the rear.

They halted on the far bank of Great Avren. Midday pa.s.sed without a sign of the other companions. Though Taran was anxious about them, he preferred to believe they had not come to harm. "Rhun has likely stopped to look at a badger tunnel or anthill," he said. "I hope it is no more than that."

"Never fear," said Coll. "Fflewddur will jog him along. They'll be here at any moment."

Taran sounded his horn, hoping the signal would guide the bard in case Fflewddur had mistaken the path. Still they did not come. Gwydion, having waited as long as he dared, chose to press on to Caer Cadarn. They continued at a brisk pace for the rest of the day.

Taran turned often in his saddle, expecting always to glimpse Rhun and the other companions galloping up behind them, or suddenly to hear the King of Mona's cheerful "Hullo, hullo!" However, as the day waned, Taran realized that Rhun, a slow horseman at best, was by now outdistanced. Fflewddur, he was sure, would not travel after nightfall.

"They have camped somewhere behind us," Coll a.s.sured Taran. "Were aught amiss, one of them would have reached us. Fflewddur Fflam knows the way to Smoit's castle. We shall all meet there. And if they seem too long delayed, Smoit will raise a searching party." The stout warrior put a hand on Taran's shoulder. "Ease your spirit until there is clear cause for alarm. Or," he added, with a wink, "is it the company of Princess Eilonwy you long for?"

"She should not have come with us," Taran replied, half angrily.

"No doubt." Coll grinned. "Yet you were not the one to speak against her."

Taran grinned back at him. "As for doing that," he said, "I have given it up long since."

AT MID-MORNING OF the following day, Caer Cadarn rose before them, and from a stone tower Smoit's crimson banner with its emblem of a black bear snapped in the wind. The stronghold had been built in a clearing, and the heavy walls jutted like the bearded King's own brows, scarred and pitted by many a battle. Coll, urging Llamrei ahead, shouted to the guards in the name of Gwydion Prince of Don. The ma.s.sive gates opened and the companions galloped into the courtyard, where men-at-arms tethered the horses and a party of warriors led the way to Smoit's Great Hall.

Gwydion strode quickly down the corridor. Flanked by the guards, Taran, Coll, and Gurgi followed. "Smoit will be at his meat," Taran said. "His breakfast lasts till high noon." He laughed. "He says it whets his appet.i.te for the rest of his meals. Gwydion will get no word out of him until we ourselves are stuffed."

"Yes, yes!" Gurgi cried. "Gurgi longs for tasty crunchings and munchings!"

"You shall have them, old friend," Taran answered. "Be sure of it."

They entered the Great Hall. At one end, stood Smoit's huge throne, cut from half an oak tree and carved in the shape of a bear with paws upraised on either side.