'Perhaps,' Magg said slyly. 'Perhaps what he learned from me was less than what I learned from him. For I soon discovered that his power was dangerously balanced. His champion, the Horned King, had long been defeated. Even the Black Crochan, the cauldron that gave him the deathless Cauldron-Born, was shattered.
'Lord Arawn has many secret liegemen among the cantrev kings,' Magg went on. 'He has promised them great riches and domains, and they are sworn to serve him. But his defeats turned them restive. It was I who showed him the means to win stronger allegiance. It was my plan, mine alone that put Dyrnwyn in his hands!
'Word now spreads throughout the cantrevs that Arawn Death-Lord holds the mightiest weapon in Prydain. He knows its secrets, far better than you do, Lord Gwydion, and knows he cannot be defeated. His liegemen rejoice, for they will soon taste victory. Other warlords will rally to his banner and his host of warriors will grow.
'I, Magg, have wrought this!' the Chief Steward cried. 'I, Magg, second only to the Death-Lord! I, Magg, speak in his name. I am his trusted emissary, and I ride from realm to realm, gathering armies to destroy the Sons of Don and those who give them allegiance. All Prydain will be his dominion. And those who stand against him? if Lord Arawn chooses to be merciful, he will slay them. His Huntsmen will drink their blood. The others will grovel in bondage forever!'
Magg's eyes gleamed, his pale brow glistened and his cheeks quivered violently. 'For this,' he hissed, 'for this, Lord Arawn has sworn to me by every oath: one day I, Magg, will wear the Iron Crown of Annuvin!'
'You are as much a fool as a traitor,' Gwydion said, in a hard voice. 'And doubly so. First, to believe Arawn. Then to believe King Smoit would heed your serpent's words. Have you slain him? Only dead would he listen to you.'
'Smoit lives,' answered Magg. 'I care nothing for his allegiance. I seek the fealty of the liegemen in his cantrev. Smoit shall order them, in his name, to serve my cause.'
'King Smoit would sooner have his tongue ripped out,' Taran cried.
'And so perhaps he shall,' replied Magg 'Mute, he will serve me as well. He will ride with me and I will speak on his behalf better than he would speak on his own. Yet,' he mused, 'I would prefer the commands to come from his lips rather than mine. There are ways to loosen his tongue instead of cutting it from his head. Some have already been tried.'
Magg narrowed his eyes. 'The best means stand before me now. You, Lord Gwydion. And you, Pig-Keeper. Speak with him. Let Smoit see that he must yield to me.' Magg smiled crookedly. 'Your lives hang on it.'
The Chief Steward moved his head slightly. The guards stepped forward.
Roughly the companions were prodded from the Great Hall. Shock and despair so filled Taran that he was hardly aware of the passages they were led down, The warriors halted. One flung open a heavy door. Others thrust the companions into a narrow chamber. The door grated shut and darkness swallowed them.
As they groped blindly Taran stumbled on a prostrate form that stirred and bellowed loudly.
'My body and blood!' roared the voice of King Smoit, and Taran was grappled by a pair of bone-cracking arms. 'Are you come again, Magg? You'll not take me alive!'
Taran was nearly smothered and crushed before Gwydion called out his own name and the names of the companions. Smoit's grip loosened and Taran felt a huge hand on his face.
'My pulse, and so it is!' cried Smoit, as the companions gathered around him. 'The Pig-Keeper! Lord Gwydion! Coll! I'd know that bald pate of yours anywhere!' His hand fell on Gurgi's disheveled head. 'And the little? whatever-it-is! Well met, my riends.' Smoit groaned heavily. 'And ill met, too. How has that simpering sop trapped you? The lard-lipped, squirming lackey has snared us all!'
Gwydion quickly told Smoit what had befallen them.
The red-bearded King growled furiously. 'Magg caught me as easily as he did you. Yesterday I was at breakfast, and had barely set myself to my meat, when my steward brought tidings that a messenger from Lord Goryon sought words with me. Now then, I knew Goryon was at odds with Lord Gast. A matter of cow-stealing, as usual. Ah, will the cantrev lords of Prydain ever stop their endless bickering! However, since I'd heard Gast's side of it, I deemed I should listen to Goryon's.'
Smoit snorted and struck his massive thigh. 'Before I could swallow another mouthful, Magg's warriors were about me. My heart and liver! Some of them will remember Smoit! Another troop had lain in ambush and stormed through the gate.' Smoit put his head in his hands. 'Of my own men those not slain are prisoned in the guardrooms and armories.'
'And you,' Taran asked anxiously, 'are you in pain? Magg spoke of torture.'
'Pain!' Smoit bellowed so loudly the chamber echoed. 'Torture? I suffer till I sweat. But not at the hands of that long-nosed worm! My skin's thick enough.. Let Magg break his teeth on my bones! He troubles me no more than a fleabite or bramble scratch. Why, I've taken worse in a friendly scuffle!
'Do you speak of pain?' Smoit stormed on. 'By every hair of my beard, I swear it pains me more than hot iron to be mewed up in my own castle! My own stronghold, and a captive in it! Gulled in my own Great Hall! My own food and drink snatched from my lips, and my breakfast ruined. Torment? Worse than that! It's enough to sour a man out of his appetite!'
Gwydion and Coll, meantime, had made their way to the walls and, as far as the dim light allowed, were hastily examining them for any sign of weakness. Taran, now that his eyes had grown a little more used to the gloom, feared that his companions were wasting their labors. The cell was windowless; what little air reached them came only from the tiny, heavily barred grating of the door. The floor was not of hard-packed earth, but of flagstones joined with barely a crack.
Smoit himself, realizing the purpose of Gwydion's efforts, shook his head and pounded his iron-shod boots on the floor. 'Solid as a mountain,' he cried. 'I know, for I built it myself. Spare yourself pains, my friends. It will crack no sooner than I!'
'How far below ground is this dungeon?' Taran asked, though his hope for escape was fading with each moment. 'Is there no way we can dig upward?'
'Dungeon?' cried Smoit. 'I've no more dungeons in Caer Cadarn. When last we met, you called my dungeons useless. Right you were, and so; I walled them up. Now there's no wrongdoing in my cantrev that I can't settle quicker and easier with a few words. Who hears my voice will mend his ways? or mend his head. Dungeon indeed! It's a spare larder.
'Would that I had stocked it as solidly as I built it,' groaned Smoit. 'Let Magg bring his irons and lashes. I'll heed them not a bit in the midst of this other fiendish torment. The larder lies beside my scullery! I've not lined my belly for two days. Two years, it feels! The vile traitor has not left off his feasting! And for me? No more than the sniff of it! Oh, he shall pay for this,' Smoit cried. 'I'll beg him one thing only: a moment with my paws about his skinny neck. I'll squeeze out all the puddings and pastries he's ever gobbled!'
Gwydion had come to crouch beside the furious Smoit. 'Your larder may be our tomb,' he said grimly. 'Not only for ourselves,' he added. 'Fflewddur Fflam leads our companions here. Magg's jaws will close on them as tightly as they are closed on us.'
Chapter 5
The Watcher
ALTHOUGH FFLEWDDUR FFLAM quickly led Eilonwy, King Rhun, and Glew to Avren Harbor, their return from the ship was less rapid. First, the King of Mona managed, against all likelihood, to tumble over his horse's neck when the dapple gray halted to drink at the riverbank. The ducking thoroughly soaked the unlucky King but did not dampen his spirits. However, Rhun's sword belt had come undone and the blade had sunk in the shallows. Rhun being unable to fish it out again because he had also got himself tangled in the steed's harness, Fflewddur was obliged to plunge into the river for the weapon. Glew now protested, bitterly against riding behind the sopping bard.
'Walk, then, little weasel! ' cried Fflewddur, shivering and beating his arms against his sides. 'By my choice, in the opposite direction!'
Glew only sniffed haughtily and refused to budge.
Eilonwy stamped her foot with impatience. 'Will you make haste, all of you! We came to look after Lord Gwydion, and we can hardly look after ourselves.'
