The Book of Three

quickly.' He turned abruptly to Taran. 'Yes,'' he said, 'I, too, seek Hen Wen.'

'You?' cried Taran. 'You came this far…'

'I need information she alone possesses,' Gwydion said quickly. 'I have journeyed a month from Caer Dathyl to get it. I have been followed, spied on, hunted. And now,' he added with a bitter laugh, 'she has run off. Very well. She will be found. I must discover all she knows of the Horned King.' Gwydion hesitated. 'I fear he himself searches for her even now.

'It must be so,' he continued. 'Hen Wen sensed him near Caer Dallben and fled in terror…'

'Then we should stop him,' Taran declared. 'Attack him, strike him down! Give me a sword and I will stand with you!'

'Gently, gently,' chided Gwydion. 'I do not say my life is worth more than another man's, but I prize it highly. Do you think a lone warrior and one Assistant Pig-Keeper dare attack the Horned King and his war band?'

Taran drew himself up. 'I would not fear him.'

'No?' said Gwydion. 'Then you are a fool. He is the man most to be dreaded in all Prydain. Will you hear something I learned during my journey, something even Dallben may not yet realize?'

Gwydion knelt on the turf. 'Do you know the craft of weaving? Thread by thread, the pattern forms.' As he spoke, he plucked at the long blades of grass, knotting them to form a mesh.

'That is cleverly done,' said Taran, watching Gwydion's rapidly moving fingers. 'May I look at it?'

'There is a more serious weaving,' said Gwydion, slipping the net into his own jacket. 'You have seen one thread of a pattern loomed in Annuvin.

'Arawn does not long abandon Annuvin,' Gwydion continued, 'but his hand reaches everywhere. There are chieftains whose lust for power goads them like a sword point. To certain of them, Arawn promises wealth and dominion, playing on their greed as a bard plays on a harp. Arawn's corruption burns every human feeling from their hearts and they become his liegemen, serving him beyond the borders of Annuvin and bound to him forever.'

'And the Horned King…?'

Gwydion nodded. 'Yes. I know beyond question that he has sworn his allegiance to Arawn. He is Arawn's avowed champion. Once again, the power of Annuvin threatens Prydain.'

Taran could only stare, speechless.

Gwydion turned to him. 'When the time is ripe, the Horned King and I will meet. And one of us will die. That is my oath. But his purpose is dark and unknown, and I must learn it from Hen Wen.'

'She can't be far,' Taran cried. 'I'll show you where she disappeared. I think I can find the place. It was just before the Horned King…'

Gwydion gave him a hard smile. 'Do you have the eyes of an owl, to find a trail at nightfall? We sleep here and I shall be off at first light. With good luck, I may have her back before…'

'What of me?' Taran interrupted. 'Hen Wen is in my charge. I let her escape and it is I who must find her.'

'The task counts more than the one who does it,' said Gwydion. 'I will not be hindered by an Assistant Pig- Keeper, who seems eager to bring himself to grief.' He stopped short and looked wryly at Taran. 'On second thought, it appears I will. If the Horned King rides toward Caer Dallben, I cannot send you back alone and I dare not go with you and lose a day's tracking. You cannot stay in this forest by yourself. Unless I find some way…'

'I swear I will not hinder you,' cried Taran. 'Let me go with you. Dallben and Coll will see I can do what I set out to do!'

'Have I another choice?' asked Gwydion. 'It would seem, Taran of Caer Dallben, we follow the same path. For a little while at least.'

The white horse trotted up and nuzzled Gwydion's hand. 'Melyngar reminds me it is time for food,' Gwydion said. He unpacked provisions from the saddlebags. 'Make no fire tonight,' he warned. 'The Horned King's outriders may be close at hand.'

Taran swallowed a hurried meal. Excitement robbed him of appetite and he was impatient for dawn. His wound had stiffened so that he could not settle himself on the roots and pebbles. It had never occurred to him until now that a hero would sleep on the ground.

Gwydion, watchful, sat with his knees drawn up, his back against an enormous elm. In the lowering dusk Taran could barely distinguish the man from the tree; and could have walked within a pace of him before realizing he was any more than a splotch of shadow. Gwydion had sunk into the forest itself; only his green-flecked eyes shone in the reflection of the newly risen moon.

Gwydion was silent and thoughtful for a long while. 'So you are Taran of Caer Dallben,' he said at last. His voice from the shadows was quiet but urgent. 'How long have you been with Dallben? Who are your kinsmen?'

Taran, hunched against a tree root, pulled his cloak closer about his shoulders. 'I have always lived at Caer Dallben,' he said. 'I don't think I have any kinsmen. I don't know who my parents were. Dallben has never told me. I suppose,' he added, turning his face away, 'I don't even know who I am.'

'In a way,' answered Gwydion, 'that is something we must all discover for ourselves. Our meeting was fortunate,' he went on. 'Thanks to you, I know a little more than I did, and you have spared me a wasted journey to Caer Dallben. It makes me wonder,' Gwydion went on, with a laugh that was not unkind, 'is there a destiny laid on me that an Assistant Pig-Keeper should help me in my quest?' He hesitated. 'Or,' he mused, 'is it perhaps the other way around?'

'What do you mean?' Taran asked.

'I am not sure,' said Gwydion. 'It makes no difference. Sleep now, for we rise early tomorrow.'

Chapter 3 Gurgi

BY THE TIME Taran woke, Gwydion had already saddled Melyngar. The cloak Taran had slept in was damp with dew. Every joint ached from his night on the hard ground. With Gwydion's urging, Taran stumbled toward the horse, a white blur in the gray-pink dawn. Gwydion hauled Taran into the saddle behind him, spoke a quiet command, and the white steed moved quickly into the rising mist.

Gwydion was seeking the spot where Taran had last seen Hen Wen. But long before they had reached it, he reined up Melyngar and dismounted. As Taran watched, Gwydion knelt and sighted along the turf.

'Luck is with us,' he said. 'I think we have struck her trail.' Gwydion pointed to a faint circle of trampled grass. 'Here she slept, and not too long ago.' He strode a few paces forward, scanning every broken twig and blade of grass.

Despite Taran's disappointment at finding the Lord Gwydion dressed in a coarse jacket and mud-spattered boots, he followed the man with growing admiration. Nothing, Taran saw, escaped Gwydion's eyes. Like a lean, gray wolf, he moved silently and easily. A little way on, Gwydion stopped, raised his shaggy head and narrowed his eyes toward a distant ridge.

'The trail is not clear,' he said, frowning. 'I can only guess she might have gone down the slope.'

'With all the forest to run in,' Taran queried, 'how can we begin to search? She might have gone anywhere in Prydain.'

'Not quite,' answered Gwydion. 'I may not know where she went, but I can be sure where she did not go.' He pulled a hunting knife from his belt. 'Here, I will show you.'

Gwydion knelt and quickly traced lines in the earth. 'These are the Eagle Mountains,' he said, with a touch of longing in his voice, 'in my own land of the north. Here, Great Avren flows. See how it turns west before it reaches the sea. We may have to cross it before our search ends. And this is the River Ystrad. Its valley leads north to Caer Dathyl.

'But see here,' Gwydion went on, pointing to the left of the line he had drawn for the River Ystrad, 'here is Mount Dragon and the domain of Arawn. Hen Wen would shun this above all. She was too long a captive in Annuvin; she would never venture near it.'

'Was Hen in Annuvin?' Taran asked with surprise. 'But how…'

'Long ago,' Gwydion said, 'Hen Wen lived among the race of men. She belonged to a farmer who had no idea