The High King

'YOU HAVE AN ODD WAY of welcoming people,' Eilonwy went on, as Taran, his heart too full to speak, stared speechless at her. 'You might at least say some­thing.'

While Gurgi, yelping joyfully, tried to greet everyone at once, Taran stepped quickly to Eilonwy's side, put his arms about her and drew the Princess close to him. 'I had given up hope…'

'A silly thing to do,' Eilonwy answered. 'I never did. Though I admit having a few uneasy moments with that ruffian Dorath, and I could tell you tales you wouldn't believe about wolves and bears. I'll save them for later, when you can tell me all that's been happening to you. As for the Huntsmen,' she continued, as the reunited companions made their way to the tunnel, 'I saw the whole thing. At first I hadn't any idea what you were up to. Then I under­stood. It was wonderful. I should have known Doli had a hand in it. Good old Doli! It looked like a river of burning ice…' The Princess stopped suddenly and her eyes widened. 'Do you realize what you've done?' she whispered. 'Don't you see?'

'Know what we've done?' laughed Fflewddur. 'Indeed we do! We've rid ourselves of the Hunts­men, and a good job it was. A Fflam couldn't have done better. As for what I see, I'm more pleased with what I can't see, if you take my meaning, namely, not a sign of those villains.'

'Hen Wen's prophery!' Eilonwy cried. 'Part of it's come true! Have all of you forgotten? Night turn to noon and rivers burn with frozen fire ere Dyrnwyn be regained. Well, you've burned a river, or so it seems to me. Frozen fire could just as well mean all that ice and flaming branches, couldn't it?'

Taran looked closely at the Princess. His hands trembled as the words of the prophecy echoed in his memory. 'Have you seen what we ourselves did not see? But have you not done as much as we did? Without realizing it yourself? Think! 'Night turn to noon.' Your bauble made daylight of darkness!'

It was Eilonwy's turn to be surprised. 'So it did!' she exclaimed.

'Yes, yes!' shouted Gurgi. 'Wise piggy told the truth! Mighty blade will be found again!'

Fflewddur cleared his throat. 'A Fflam is always encouraging,' he said, 'but in this case I should remind you, the prophecy also said Dyrnwyn's flame would be quenched and its power would vanish, which leaves us no better off than we were, even if we did manage to find it. And I also recall something about asking mute stones to speak. So far I've heard not a word from any of the stones here, though in the matter of boulders and rocks, there's hardly a short supply. The only message they've given me is that they're hard to sleep on. Moreover, if you want my opinion, I'd say don't trust prophecies in the first place. It's been my experience they're as bad as enchantments and lead only to one thing: trouble.'

'I do not understand the meaning of the prophecy myself,' Taran said. 'Are these signs of hope, or do we deceive ourselves by wishing them to be? Only Dallben or Gwydion has wisdom to inter­pret them. And yet I can't help feeling there is some hope at last. But it is true. Our task is no easier than it was.'

Doli grimaced. 'No easier? It's impossible now. Do you still mean to gain the Red Fallows? I warn you the Cauldron-Born are far out of reach.' He snorted. 'Don't talk to me about prophecies. Talk about time. We've lost too much of it.'

'I have thought long about this, too,' Taran answered. 'It has been in my mind ever since the tunnel fell. I believe our only chance is to go straight across the mountains and try to hold back the Cauldron-Born as they turn northwest to Annuvin.'

'Slim hope,' Doli replied. 'The Fair Folk can't venture that far. It's forbidden land. That close to Arawn's realm, Fair Folk would die. Gwystyl's waypost was nearest to the Land of Death, and you've seen what it did to his digestion and disposition. The best we could do is to put you well on your way. One of us might go with you,' he added. 'You can imagine who that is. Good old Doli! I've spent so much time above ground with you humans that being in Annuvin can't harm me.

'Yes, I'll go with you,' Doli went on, scowling furiously. 'I see nothing else for it. Good old Doli! Sometimes I wish I didn't have such an agreeable temper. Humph!'

Chapter 16 The Enchanter

LIKE A WEARY CHILD, the old man hunched over the bookstrewn table, his head upon his arm. Across his bony shoulders he had flung a cloak; the fire still flickered in the hearth, but the chill of this winter sank into him more deeply than any other he could remember. At his feet, Hen Wen stirred restlessly and whimpered in a high, plaintive voice. Dallben, who was neither altogether asleep nor awake, reached down a frail hand and gently scratched her ear.

The pig would not be calmed. Her pink snout twitched, she snorted and muttered unhappily and tried to hide her head in the folds of his robe. The enchanter at last roused himself.

'What is it, Hen? Is our time upon us?' He gave the pig a reassuring pat and rose stiffly from the wooden stool. 'Tut, it is a moment to pass, no more than that, whatever the outcome.'

Without haste he took up a long ash-wood staff and, leaning on it, hobbled from the chamber. Hen Wen trotted at his heels. At the cottage door, he pulled the cloak tighter about him and stepped into the night. The moon was at its full, riding distant in a deep sky. Dallben stood, listening carefully. To another's ears, the little farm would have seemed silent as the moon itself, but the old enchanter, his brow furrowed, his eyes half closed, nodded his head. 'You are right, Hen,' he murmured. 'I hear them now. But they are still far. What then,' he added, with a wrinkled smile, 'must I wait long for them and freeze the little marrow left in my bones?'

Nevertheless, he did not return within the cottage but moved a few paces across the dooryard. His eyes; which had been heavy with drowsiness, grew bright as ice crystals. He peered sharply past the leafless trees of the orchard, as though to see into the shadows entwining the circling forest like black ivy tendrils. Hen Wen stayed behind, sitting uneasily on her haunches and watching the enchanter with much concern on her broad, bristly face.

'I should say there are twenty of them,' Dallben remarked, then added wryly, 'I do not know whether to be insulted or relieved. Only twenty? It is a paltry number. Yet more than that would be too cumbersome for the long journey, especially through the fighting in the Valley of Ystrad. No, twenty would be deemed ample and well chosen.'

For some time the old man stood quietly and patiently. At last, through the clear air, a faint sound of hoofbeats grew more insistent, then stopped, as if the riders had dismounted and were walking their steeds.

Against the dark tangle of trees where the forest rose at the edge of the stubble field, the darting shapes could have been no more than shadows cast by the bushes. Dallben straightened, raised his head, and blew out his breath as gently as if he were puffing at thistledown.

In an instant a biting gale shrieked across the field. The farm was calm, but the wind ripped with the force of a thousand swords into the forest, where the trees clashed and rattled. Horses whinnied, men shouted as branches suddenly lashed against them. The gale beat against the warriors, who flung up their arms to shield themselves from it.

Still, the war band pressed on, struggling through the wind whipped forest and at last gaining the stubble field. At the onset of the gale, Hen Wen, squealing fearfully, had turned tail and dashed into the cottage. Dallben raised a hand and the wind died as quickly as it had risen. Frowning, the old man smote his staff on the frozen turf.

Deep thunder muttered, the ground shuddered; and the field heaved like a restless sea. The warriors staggered and lost their footing, and among the attackers many fled to the safety of the forest, has­tening to escape, fearful the earth itself might open and swallow them. The rest, urging each other on, drew their swords and stumbled across the field, racing toward the cottage.

With some vexation Dallben thrust out his arm with fingers spread as though he were casting pebbles into a pond. From his hand a crimson flame spurted and stretched like a fiery lash, in blinding streaks against the black sky.

The warriors cried out as ropes of crackling flame caught at them and twined about their arms and legs. The