you've made your decision, I've made my own. I don't see how you're going to stop me. If
Fflewddur blinked and clutched his harp protectively, while Eilonwy went on.
'And if a certain Assistant Pig-Keeper? I won't even mention
Everyone started talking at once. 'Stop it!' cried Taran at the top of his voice. 'Very well,' he said, after the others grew quiet. 'You,' he said to Eilonwy, 'could be tied up and set on Melyngar. But,' he added, raising his hand before the girl could interrupt, 'that will not be done.
The bard looked surprised.
Taran continued. 'There is greater safety in greater numbers. Whatever happens, there will be more chance for one of us to reach Caer Dathyl. I believe we should all stay together.'
'And faithful Gurgi, too!' shouted Gurgi. 'He will follow! Too many wicked enemies are smirking and lurking to jab him with pointy spears!'
'If he agrees,' Taran said, 'Fflewddur shall act as guide. But I warn you,' he added, glancing at Gurgi and Eilonwy, 'nothing must hinder our task.'
'Ordinarily,' said Fflewddur, 'I prefer to be in charge of this type of expedition myself. But,' he went on, as Taran was about to protest, 'since you are acting for Lord Gwydion, I accept your authority as I would accept his.' He bowed low. 'A Fflam is yours to command!
'Forward, then!' the bard cried. 'And if we must give battle, so be it! Why, I've carved my way through walls of spearmen…'
Six harp strings broke at once, and the others strained so tautly they looked on the verge of snapping. While Taran saddled Melyngar, the bard set ruefully to work repairing his harp.
Chapter 11
Flight Through the Hills
AT FIRST, TARAN OFFERED to let Eilonwy ride Melyngar, but the girl refused.
'I can walk as well as any of you,' she cried, so angrily that Taran made no more of it; he had learned to be wary of the girl's sharp tongue. It was agreed that the white mare would carry the weapons taken from Spiral Castle? except the sword Dyrnwyn, of which Eilonwy had appointed herself guardian.
Scratching in the dirt with his dagger point, Fflewddur Fflam showed Taran the path he intended to follow. 'The hosts of the Horned King will surely stay in the Valley of Ystrad. It's the easiest way for an army on the march. Spiral Castle was here,' he added, with an angry jab to mark the spot, 'west of the River Ystrad. Now, the shortest road would be straight north over these hills.'
'That is the one we must take,' said Taran, trying hard to make sense of Fflewddur's crisscrossing lines.
'Wouldn't recommend it, my friend. We should be passing a little too near Annuvin. Arawn's strongholds are close to Spiral Castle; and I suggest we keep clear of them. No, what I believe we should do is this: stay on the high ground of the western bank of the Ystrad; we can go quite directly, since we needn't follow the valley itself. That way, we can avoid both Annuvin and the Horned King. The four of us can move faster than heavily armed warriors. We shall come out well ahead of them, not too far from Caer Dathyl. From there, we make a dash for it? and our task is done.' Fflewddur straightened up, beaming with satisfaction. 'There you have it,' he said, wiping the dirt from his dagger. 'A brilliant strategy. My own war leader couldn't have arranged it better.'
'Yes,' said Taran, his head still muddled with the bard's talk of high ground and western banks, 'that sounds very reasonable.'
THEY DESCENDED to a broad, sun-swept meadow. The morning had turned bright and warm; dew still clung to bending blades of grass. At the head of the travelers strode Fflewddur, stepping out briskly on his long, spindly shanks. The harp jogged on his back; his shabby cloak was rolled over his shoulder. Eilonwy, hair disheveled by the breeze, the great black sword slung behind her, followed next, with Gurgi immediately after. So many new leaves and twigs had stuck in Gurgi's hair that he had begun to look like a walking beaver dam; he loped along, swinging his arms, shaking his head from side to side, moaning and muttering.
Holding Melyngar's bridle, Taran marched last in line. Except for the weapons lashed to the horse's saddle, these travelers might have been on a spring ramble. Eilonwy chattered gaily; now and then Fflewddur burst into a snatch of song. Taran alone was uneasy. To him, the bright morning felt deceptively gentle; the golden trees seemed to cover dark shadows. He shuddered even in the warmth. His heart was troubled, too, as he watched his companions. In Caer Dallben, he had dreamed of being a hero. But dreaming, he had come to learn, was easy; and at Caer Dallben no lives depended on his judgment. He longed for Gwydion's strength and guidance. His own strength, he feared, was not equal to his task. He turned once for a last look in the direction of Spiral Castle, Gwydion's burial mound. Over the hill crest, stark against the clouds, rose two figures on horseback.
Taran shouted and gestured for his companions to take cover in the woods. Melyngar galloped forward. In another moment, they were all crouching in a thicket. The horsemen followed along the crest, too far away for Taran to see their faces clearly; but from their rigid postures he could guess at the livid features and dull eyes of the Cauldron-Born.
'How long have they been behind us?' asked Fflewddur. 'Have they seen us?'
Taran looked cautiously through the screen of leaves. He pointed toward the slope. 'There is your answer,' he said.
From the crest the pale Cauldron warriors had turned their horses toward the meadow and were steadily picking their way down the hill. 'Hurry,' ordered Taran. 'We must outrun them.'
The group did not return to the meadow, but struck out across the woods. The appearance of the Cauldron- Born now forced them to abandon the path Fflewddur had chosen, but the bard hoped they might throw the warriors off the track and circle back again to higher ground.
Staying close to one another, they moved at a dog trot, not daring to stop even for water. The forest offered a measure of protection from the sun, but after a time the pace began to tell on them. Only Gurgi did not seem fatigued or uncomfortable. He loped steadily along, and the swarms of midges and stinging insects could not penetrate his matted hair. Eilonwy, who proudly insisted she enjoyed running, clung to Melyngar's stirrup.
Taran could not be sure how close the warriors were; he knew the Cauldron-Born could hardly fail to track them, by sound if nothing else, for they no longer attempted to move silently. Speed was their only hope, and long after nightfall they pressed on.
IT HAD BECOME a blind race into darkness, under a moon drowned in heavy clouds. Invisible branches grasped at them or slashed their faces. Eilonwy stumbled once, and Taran pulled her to her feet. The girl faltered again; her head drooped. Taran unstrapped the weapons on Melyngar's saddle, shared out the burden with Fflewddur and Gurgi, and hoisted the protesting Eilonwy to Melyngar's back. She slumped forward, her cheek pressed against the horse's golden mane.
All night they struggled through the forest, which grew denser the closer they approached the Ystrad valley. By the time the first hesitating light of day appeared, even Gurgi had begun to stumble with fatigue and could barely put one hairy foot in front of the other. Eilonwy had fallen into a slumber so deep that Taran feared she was ill. Her hair lay bedraggled and damp upon her forehead; her face was pallid. With the bard's help, Taran lifted her from the saddle and propped her against a mossy bank. When he ventured to unbuckle the cumbersome sword, Eilonwy opened one eye, made an irritated face, and pulled the blade away from him? with more determination than he had expected.
'You never understand things the first time,' Eilonwy murmured, her grip firm on the weapon. 'But I imagine Assistant Pig-Keepers are all alike. I told you before you're not to have it, and now I'll tell you for the second time? or is it the third, or fourth? I must have lost count.' So saying, she wrapped her arms around the scabbard and
