The High King

Darkness had blinded the windows of the cottage. To Taran, it seemed the fire had lost its warmth and cast only cold shadows among the silent companions.

'At first I thought somehow we could overtake the Huntsmen and keep them from reaching Annuvin,' Taran said at last. 'But if Achren speaks truth, Arawn himself commanded them, and Gwydion's sword is already in his hands. I do not know his purpose, but I am deeply afraid.'

'I can't forgive myself,' Fflewddur said. 'The loss is my fault. I should have seen the trap instantly.'

Taran shook his head. 'Arawn worked a bitter ruse on you. Gwydion himself was deceived.'

'But not I!' cried the bard. 'A Fflam is keen-eyed! From the first moment, I saw differences. The way he sat his steed, the way…' The harp, slung at the bard's shoulder, tensed suddenly and a string snapped with such a twang that Gurgi, crouched near the hearth, started bolt upright. Fflewddur choked and swallowed. 'There it goes again,' he muttered. 'Will it never leave off? The slightest…ah, coloring of the facts, and the beastly strings break! Believe me, I meant no exaggeration. As I thought back it did seem that I could notice…No, the truth of it is: The guise was perfect. I could be snared again? and as easily.'

'Amazing!' murmured the King of Mona, who had been watching wide-eyed. 'I say, I wish I could do that sort of shape-changing myself. Unbelievable! I've always thought: How interesting to be a badger, or an ant. I should love to know how to build as well as they do. Since I've been king, I've tried to improve things here and there. I mean to put up a new seawall at Mona Haven. I've begun once already. My idea was to start from both ends at the same time and thus be done twice as quickly. I can't understand what went wrong, for I took charge of all the work myself, but somehow we didn't meet in the middle and I'll have to find a better way of going at it. Then I've planned a road to Glew's old cavern. It's an amazing place and I think the folk of Dinas Rhydnant will enjoy visiting it. Surprising how easy it is,' Rhun said, beaming proudly. 'The planning, at any rate. The doing, for some reason, always seems a little harder.'

Glew, hearing his name spoken, pricked up his ears. He had not left his place in the chimney corner; nor had his alarm at the happenings in the cottage made him loosen his hold on the cook-pot. 'When I was a giant,' he began.

'I see the little weasel is with you,' said Fflewddur to King Rhun, recognizing Glew immediately despite the former giant's present stature. 'When he was a giant,' the bard muttered, giving Glew a look of ill-concealed vexation, 'he was a paltry one. He'd have done anything to be free of that cavern? even to popping us into that foul stew he'd cooked up. A Fflam is forgiving! But I think he went a little too far.'

'When I was a giant,' Glew continued, either ignoring or not hearing the bard's remarks, 'no one would have humiliated me by taking me by the ears and hustling me aboard a smelly boat. I had no wish to come here. After what's happened today, I have less wish to stay.' Glew pursed his lips. 'Dallben shall see that I'm taken back to Mona without delay.'

'I'm sure he will,' Taran replied. 'But Dallben has graver concerns now, and so do we all.'

Mumbling something about shabby treatment and lack of consideration, Glew scraped a finger along the bottom of the pot and sucked his teeth with indignant satisfaction. The companions said no more, but settled down to wait out the night.

The fire burned to ashes. A night wind rose outside the cottage. Taran rested his head on his arms. At this homecoming he had longed to stand before Eilonwy, forgetting rank and birth, as any man before any woman, and ask her to wed. But now the disaster that had overtaken Gwydion made Taran's own wishes unimportant. Though he still did not know Eilonwy's heart, nor what her answer to him might be, he could not bring himself to learn it until all hearts were at peace again. He closed his eyes. The wind screamed as if it would rip to tatters the quiet meadows and orchards of Caer Dallben.

A hand on his shoulder aroused him. It was Eilonwy.

'Gwydion has wakened,' she said. 'He would speak with us.'

IN DALLBEN'S CHAMBER the Prince of Don half-raised himself from the couch. His features were pale under their weathering, and tightly drawn, though more in anger than pain. His mouth was set, bitter, his green eyes burned with dark flashes, and his glance was that of a proud wolf scornful of his hurt, and scornful all the more of those who had given him his wounds. Achren was a silent shadow in the corner. The old enchanter stood anxiously beside the book-strewn table near the wooden bench where Taran, throughout boyhood, had sat for lessons. The Book of Three, the huge, leather-bound tome of secret lore forbidden to all but Dallben himself, lay closed atop a pile of other ancient volumes.

Taran, with Eilonwy, Fflewddur, and King Rhun behind him, strode to Gwydion and clasped the warrior's hand. The Prince of Don smiled grimly.

'No merry meeting, and no long one, Assistant Pig-Keeper,' Gwydion said. 'Dallben has told me of the Death- Lord's ruse. Dyrnwyn must be regained at all cost, and without delay. He spoke, too, of your wanderings,' Gwydion added. 'I would hear more of them from yourself, but that must wait another time. I ride to Annuvin before the day is out.'

Taran looked at the Prince of Don in surprise and concern. 'Your wounds are still fresh. You cannot make such a journey.'

'Neither can I stay here,' Gwydion answered. 'Since Dyrnwyn first came into my hands, I have learned more of its nature. Only a little more,' he added, 'but enough to know its loss is fatal.

'Dyrnwyn's lineage lies beyond memory of living man,' Gwydion continued, 'and much of its history has been forgotten or destroyed. For long, the blade was thought no more than legend, and matter for a harper's song. Taliesin Chief Bard is wisest in the lore of Prydain, but even he could tell me only that Govannion the Lame, a master craftsman, forged and tempered Dyrnwyn at the behest of King Rhydderch Hael, as a weapon of greatest power and protection for the land. To safeguard it, a spell was cast upon the blade and a warning graven on the scabbard.'

'I remember the Old Writing,' Eilonwy said. 'Indeed, I shall never forget it, for I had an impossible time keeping Taran from meddling with things he didn't understand. 'Draw Dyrnwyn only thou of royal blood…' '

'Closer to its true meaning is 'noble worth,' ' said Gwydion. 'The enchantment forbade the sword to all but those who would use it wisely and well. The flame of Dyrnwyn would destroy any other who sought to draw it. But the writing on the scabbard has been marred. The full message, which might have told more of the sword's purpose, is unknown.

'King Rhydderch bore the blade throughout his life,' Gwydion continued, 'and his sons after him. Their reigns were peaceful and prosperous. But here Dyrnwyn's history ends. King Rhitta, grandson of Rhydderch, was the last to hold the blade. He was lord of Spiral Castle before it became the stronghold of Queen Achren. He met his death, in a way unknown, with Dyrnwyn clutched in his hands. From that time on the sword was seen no more, forgotten as it lay buried with him in Spiral Castle's deepest chamber.' Gwydion turned to Eilonwy. 'Where you, Princess, found it. You gave it to me willingly; but it was not willingly that it left my hands. The blade is worth more than my life, or the lives of any of us. In Arawn's grasp, it can bring doom upon Prydain.'

'Do you believe Arawn can unsheathe the sword?' Taran asked hurriedly.'Can he turn the weapon against us? Can he make it serve some evil end?'

'This I do not know,' replied Gwydion. The warrior's face was troubled. 'It may be that Arawn Death-Lord has found means to break the enchantment. Or, unable to use it himself, his purpose may be to keep the blade from any other use. He would have taken my life as well as the sword. Thanks to Fflewddur Fflam, I still have the one. Now I must find the other, though the path lead me to the depths of Annuvin itself.'

Achren, silent until now, raised her head and spoke to Gwydion. 'Let me seek Dyrnwyn in your stead. I know the ways of Annuvin; no stranger am I to its secret hoards, and where and how they are guarded. If the sword is hidden, I will find it. If Arawn himself bears it, Dyrnwyn will be taken from him. More than that. I swear by every oath to destroy him. Thus have I sworn already to myself, and swear it again to you. You forced life upon me, Gwydion, when I begged for death. Now give me what I live for. Give me my vengeance.'

Gwydion did not answer immediately. His green-flecked eyes searched the woman's face. He said, 'Vengeance is not a gift I may bestow, Achren.'

Achren stiffened. Her hands twisted into claws and Taran feared she would fling herself upon Gwydion. She did not move. 'You will not trust me,' Achren said hoarsely. Her bloodless lips turned in a smile of contempt. 'So be it,