The Castle of Llyr

and sank back to the couch. 'Difficult? difficult,' she murmured. 'Like trying to turn yourself inside out. Or would it be outside in?'

'Eilonwy, look at me!' Taran tried to raise her, but Eilonwy, with a little cry of annoyance, drew away. 'You must listen,' Taran insisted.

'That's what I've been doing,' she replied. 'So far you've made no sense whatever. I was much more comfortable asleep. I'd rather dream than be shouted at. But what was I dreaming? A pleasant dream? with a pig in it? and someone who? no, it's gone now, faster than a butterfly. You've spoiled it.'

Taran had forced the girl to sit upright once more. Now he stared at her with dread. Despite her travel-stained garments and disheveled hair, she appeared unharmed. But her eyes were strangely depthless. It was not sleep that filled her, and his hands trembled as he realized Eilonwy had been drugged or? his heart chilled at the thought of it? bewitched.

'Listen carefully,' he pleaded. 'There is no time…'

'I don't believe people should be allowed to come stamping into other people's dreams without asking first,' Eilonwy said, with some vexation. 'There's something impolite about it. Like walking into a spider web when the spider's still using it.'

Taran ran to the casement. He could see nothing of the companions below, nor any sign of Kaw. The moon was down and the sky would soon lighten. Quickly he turned back to Eilonwy.

'Make haste, I beg you!' he cried.. 'Climb down with me. The rope is strong enough for both of us.'

'A rope?' exclaimed Eilonwy. 'Me? Go sliding down with you? I've only known you these few moments, but it seems to me you make the silliest suggestions. No, thank you.' She stifled a yawn. 'You might try sliding down the rope yourself,' she added with a certain sharpness, 'and let me go back to sleep. I hope I can remember where I left off. That's the worst of having your dream broken into. You can never find it again.'

Taran, sick with alarm, knelt beside her. 'What holds you?' he whispered. 'Fight against it. Can you not remember me? Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper…'

'How interesting,' remarked Eilonwy. 'Sometime you must tell me more about yourself. But not now.'

'Think,' Taran urged. 'Remember Caer Dall­ben? Coll? Hen Wen…'

Through the casement the sea wind carried trails of mist like tangled wines. Taran spoke the names again and the names of the companions.

Eilonwy's glance was so distant that she herself seemed far from the chamber. 'Caer Dallben,' she murmured. 'How curious? I think that might have been part of my dream, too. There was an orchard; the trees were in blossom. I was climbing up, as high as I could go…'

'Yes, so it was,' Taran pressed eagerly. 'I, too, remember the day. You said you'd climb to the very top of the apple tree. I warned you not to, but you did anyway.'

'I wanted to learn the trees,' Eilonwy went on. 'You must learn them anew every year,' she said, 'for they are always different. And in the dream I'd gone to the last branch.'

'It was no dream,' Taran urged, 'but the life you know; your own life, not a shadow that vanishes in the sun. Indeed, you went to the highest branch. It snapped, as I feared it would.'

'How should anyone know someone else's dream?' said Eilonwy, as though speaking to herself. 'Yes, it broke and I was falling. There was someone below who caught me. Could it have been an Assist­ant Pig-Keeper? I wonder what became of him?'

'He is here now,' Taran said quietly. 'He has long sought you and in ways even he himself did not know. Now that he has found you, can you not find your path back to him?'

Eilonwy rose to her feet. Her eyes flickered and for the first time a light shone in them. Taran held out his hands to her. She hesitated, then took a step for­ward.

But even as she moved to him, her glance turned shallow and the light died. 'It is a dream, no more than that,' she whispered, and turned away.

'Achren has done this to you!' Taran cried. 'She will harm you no longer.' He seized the girl's arm and drew her toward the casement.

At the sound of Achren's name, Eilonwy stiff­ened and tore herself from him. She spun to face him. 'You dare touch a Princess of the House of Llyr?'

Her voice was sharp; her eyes had lost their warmth; and Taran saw the brief moment of recollec­tion had fled. He knew that Eilonwy, at all costs, must be taken from this dread place. His terror and dismay grew with the thought that perhaps even now she was beyond hope. He struggled to catch her by the waist and put her over his shoulder.

Eilonwy struck him full in the face with such force that he staggered back. Yet it was not the blow that pained him but her scornful glance. On her lips now was a smile of mockery and malice. He was a stranger to her and he feared his heart would break.

Once more he tried to seize her. Eilonwy, with a cry of rage, twisted away and broke free.

'Achren!' she called. 'Achren! Help me!'

She ran to the portal of the chamber and into the corridor. Taran snatched up the rush light and raced after the fleeing Princess. Her sandals clattered down the shadowed hallway, and he glimpsed an edge of her robe vanishing around a corner. She had not ceased to call Achren's name. In another moment the castle would be roused and the companions discovered. Taran cursed himself for a blunderer. He had no choice now but to overtake the bewitched girl before every hope of escape faded. Already he heard a shout from the wall and the clash of blades.

The rush light scorched his hand and he cast it aside. In the darkness he sped to the end of the corridor and flung himself down a flight of steps. The Great Hall of Caer Colur stretched before him, the crimson haze of daybreak filling its ruined casements. Eilonwy fled across the wide stretch of worn and crumbling flagstones and vanished again. A hand gripped his jacket and spun him around. A torch flared in his eyes.

'The Pig-Keeper!' hissed Magg.

The Chief Steward plucked a dagger from a fold of his garments and thrust at Taran, who flung up an arm to ward off the blow. The dagger glanced aside. Magg cursed and swept the torch like a sword. Taran fell back, seeking to draw his own weapon. The shouts of the awakened guards filled the Great Hall. In another instant he caught sight of Gwydion, the companions at his heels.

Magg spun around. Fflewddur had broken away from the press of warriors and was racing at top speed toward the Chief Steward. The bard's spiky yellow hair streamed behind him and his face shone with furious triumph.

'The spider is mine!' cried Fflewddur, his blade whistling about his head. Magg, at the sight of the frenzied bard, yelled in terror and tried to flee. The bald was upon him in a moment, striking right and left with the flat of his sword in such a wild onslaught that most of his blows missed their mark. Magg, with the strength of desperation, sprang at the bard's throat and grappled with him.

Before Taran could come to Fflewddur's aid, a warrior with an axe beset him and, despite his stout defense, Taran found himself driven back toward a corner of the Hall. Amid, the confusion of the fray, he saw Gwydion and Rhun struggling against other warriors. The Prince of Mona laid about him furiously with his broken sword, and it was to one of Rhun's sharp blows that Taran's assailant fell.

Fflewddur and Magg were still locked in combat. As Taran raced to the side of the bard, the dark, shaggy form of Gurgi overtook him. With a yelp of rage, Gurgi leaped into the air and clung to Magg's shoulders. The Chief Steward still wore his silver chain of office; Gurgi snatched it and let himself swing free. Magg gasped and tumbled backward, choking and hissing while Gurgi dangled for an instant, then sprang clear of the falling Steward. In a flash the bard was upon the prostrate Magg. Heedless of the buffeting from Magg's flailing legs, Gurgi laid hold of him by the heels and hung on with all his strength, while Fflewddur, sitting on Magg's head, seemed indeed to be carrying out his threat of squashing the treacherous Chief Steward.

Gwydion, with Dyrnwyn unsheathed and blazing, had cut down two warriors who now sprawled motionless on the flagstones. Terrified at the sight of the flaming weapon, the remaining guards fled. With long strides Gwydion hastened to the companions.

'Eilonwy is bewitched!' Taran cried. 'I have lost her.'

Gwydion's eyes went to the end of the hall where scarlet draperies had been flung back from an alcove. Eilonwy stood there and beside her, Achren.