At a long cleft protected from the wind, Taran signaled a halt. They had made excellent progress during the day, far more than he had expected, and he saw no reason to exhaust themselves by forcing a march during the night. Tethering Melyngar to one of the stunted trees that grew in the heights, the travelers made camp. Since there was no further danger from the Cauldron-Born, and the hosts of the Horned King moved far below and to the west of the group, Taran deemed it safe to build a fire. Medwyn's provisions needed no cooking, but the blaze warmed and cheered them. As the night shadows drifted from the peaks, Eilonwy lit her golden sphere and set it in the crevice of a faulted rock.
Gurgi, who had not uttered a single moan or groan during this part of the journey, perched on a boulder and began scratching himself luxuriously; although, after Medwyn's washing and combing, it was more through habit than anything else. The bard, as lean as ever, despite the huge amount he had eaten, repaired his harp strings.
'You've been carrying that harp ever since I met you,' Eilonwy said, 'and you've never once played it. That's like telling somebody you want to talk to them, and when they get ready to listen, you don't say anything.'
'You'd hardly expect me to go strumming out airs while those Cauldron warriors were following us,' Fflewddur said. 'Somehow I didn't think it would be appropriate. But? a Fflam is always obliging, so if you'd really care to hear me play…,' he added, looking both delighted and embarrassed. He cradled the instrument in one arm and, almost before his fingers touched the strings, a gentle melody, as beautiful as the curve of the harp itself, lifted like a voice singing without words.
To Taran's ear, the melody had its own words, weaving a supple thread among the rising notes. Home, home, they sang; and beyond the words themselves, so fleeting he could not be quite sure of them, were the fields and orchards of Caer Dallben, the gold afternoons of autumn and the crisp winter mornings with pink sunlight on the snow.
Then the harp fell silent. Fflewddur sat with his head bent close to the strings, a curious expression on his long face. 'Well, that was a surprise,' said the bard at last. 'I had planned something a little more lively, the sort of thing my war leader always enjoys? to put us in a bold frame of mind, you understand. The truth of the matter is,' he admitted with a slight tone of discouragement, 'I don't really know what's going to come out of it next. My fingers go along, but sometimes I think this harp plays of itself.
'Perhaps,' Fflewddur continued, 'that's why Taliesin thought he was doing me a favor when he gave it to me. Because when I went up to the Council of Bards for my examination, I had an old pot one of the minstrels had left behind and I couldn't do more than plunk out a few chants. However, a Fflam never looks a gift horse in the mouth, or, in this case, I should say harp.'
'It was a sad tune,' Eilonwy said. 'But the odd thing about it is, you don't mind the sadness. It's like feeling better after you've had a good cry. It made me think of the sea again, though I haven't been there since I was a little girl.' At this, Taran snorted, but Eilonwy paid no attention to him. 'The waves break against the cliffs and churn into foam, and farther out, as far as you can see, there are the white crests, the White Horses of Llyr, they call them; but they're really only waves waiting their turn to roll in.'
'Strange,' said the bard, 'personally, I was thinking of my own castle. It's small and drafty, but I would like to see it again; a person can have enough wandering, you know. It made me think I might even settle down again and try to be a respectable sort of king.'
'Caer Dallben is closer to my heart,' Taran said. 'When I left, I never gave it too much thought. Now I think of it a great deal.'
Gurgi, who had been listening silently, set up a long howl. 'Yes, yes, soon great warriors will all be back in their halls, telling their tales with laughings and chaffings. Then it will be the fearful forest again for poor Gurgi, to put down his tender head in snoozings and snorings.'
'Gurgi,' Taran said, 'I promise to bring you to Caer Dallben, if I ever get there myself. And if you like it, and Dallben agrees, you can stay there as long as you want.'
'What joy!' Gurgi cried. 'Honest, toiling Gurgi extends thanks and best wishes. Oh, yes, fond, obedient Gurgi will work hard…'
'For now, obedient Gurgi had better sleep,' Taran advised, 'and so should we all. Medwyn has put us well on our way, and it can't take much longer. We'll start again at daybreak.'
DURING THE NIGHT, however, a gale rose, and by morning a drenching rain beat into the cleft. Instead of slackening, the wind gained in force and screamed over the rocks. It beat like a fist against the travelers' shelter, then pried with searching fingers, as if to seize and dash them into the valley.
They set out nevertheless, holding their cloaks before their faces. To make matters worse, the path broke off entirely and sheer cliffs loomed ahead of them. The rain stopped, after the travelers had all been soaked to the skin, but now the rocks were slippery and treacherous. Even the sure-footed Melyngar stumbled once, and for a breathless moment Taran feared she would be lost.
The mountains swung a half-circle around a lake black and sullen below threatening clouds. Taran halted on an outcropping of stone and pointed toward the hills at the far side of the lake. 'According to what Medwyn told us,' he said to the bard, 'we should make for that notch, all the way over there. But I see no purpose in following the mountains when we can cut almost straight across. The lake shore is flat, at least, while here it's getting practically impossible to climb.'
Fflewddur rubbed his pointed nose. 'Even counting the time it would take us to go down and come up again, I think we should save several hours. Yes, I definitely believe it's worth trying.'
'Medwyn didn't say a word about crossing valleys,' Eilonwy put in.
'He didn't say anything about cliffs like these,' answered Taran. 'They seem nothing to him; he's lived here a long time. For us, it's something else again.'
'If you don't listen to what somebody tells you,' Eilonwy remarked, 'it's like putting your fingers in your ears and jumping down a well. For an Assistant Pig-Keeper who's done very little traveling, you suddenly know all about it.'
'Who found the way out of the barrow?' Taran retorted. 'It's decided. We cross the valley.'
The descent was laborious, but once they had reached level ground, Taran felt all the more convinced they would save time. Holding Melyngar's bridle, he led the group along the narrow shore. The lake reached closely to the base of the hills, obliging Taran to splash through the shallows. The lake, he realized, was not black in reflection of the sky; the water itself was dark, flat, and as grim and heavy as iron. The bottom, too, was as treacherous as the rocks above. Despite his care, Taran lurched and nearly got a ducking. When he turned to warn the others, to his surprise he saw Gurgi in water up to his waist and heading toward the center of the lake. Fflewddur and Eilonwy were also splashing farther and farther from land.
'Don't go through the water,' Taran called. 'Keep to the shore!'
'Wish we could,' the bard shouted back. 'But we're stuck somehow. There's a terribly strong pull…'
A moment later, Taran understood what the bard meant. An unexpected swell knocked him off his feet and even as he put out his hands to break his fall the black lake sucked him down. Beside him, Melyngar thrashed her legs and whinnied. The sky spun overhead. He was pulled along like a twig in a torrent. Eilonwy shot past him. He tried to regain his footing and catch her. It was too late. He skimmed and bobbed over the surface. The far shore would stop them, Taran thought, struggling to keep his head above the waves. A roar filled his ears. The middle of the lake was a whirlpool clutching and flinging him to the depths. Black water closed over him, and he knew he was drowning.
Chapter 15
King Eiddileg
DOWN HE SPUN, battling for air, in a flood that broke upon him like a crumbling mountain. Faster and faster the waters bore him along, tossing him right and left. Taran collided with something? what it was, he could not tell? but he clung to it even as his strength failed him. There was a crash, as though the earth had split asunder; the water turned to foam, and Taran felt himself dashed against an unyielding wall. He
