The morning sun was turning the sky over the low cliffs to bluish pink, and the sky was alive with sailing gulls and pelicans and fluttering pipers, when the Prince of Don awoke. Strangely, only the stars had been visible the night before, but he had dreamed of a beautiful full moon sailing overhead, low enough to almost reach out and touch. It had been comforting in a way, seeming to urge him to listen to the voices that came from deep inside, to trust also in the instincts of others, and to believe there was a way forward through the perplexing riddles and labyrinths that seemed to face him.
Gwydion heard the low groans of his companion, and moved quickly to bring Iestin water, putting the back of his hand to the fisherman's forehead as he took the flask and drank deeply. Iestin was burning, and Gwydion's forehead wrinkled into a worried frown. He feared that that in spite of his best hopes, his friend would not be spared the fever and festering that usually followed a deep arrow strike. The entry site itself was very warm, but Gwydion could see nothing unusual about the wound, based on similar ones he had seen.
"Again, I am detaining you," Iestin said with a grim smile. "…Here you are tending to an old fool of a fisherman, instead of your own business. I would tell you to head out on your own, but it doesn't seem that will work either…hard for me to see you getting the Briallen back out to sea through these rocks by yourself—but not impossible. Maybe you should try it; with your skills you might just make it."
"As I said before, we will leave this beach together or not at all," Gwydion said, applying a firmness to his voice that he knew was a bit forced. "Whatever has happened…has already happened, I fear, and another day's delay will make little difference."
"You know as well as I that is not true," Iestin replied, his bleary eyes meeting the prince's. "It galls me more than I can say…but it is true enough that it will take both of us to launch, otherwise the odds are the Briallen's splinters will decorate this beach throughout the winter. With your leave, I will concentrate on regaining my strength, so the wait will be as short as possible." With that, the fisherman put his head back down, and was soon again fast asleep.
While Iestin slept, Gwydion scaled a narrow fissure in the cliffs, and walked inland, filling his flasks from a small clear stream. Back in camp, he built up the fire to boil more of his poultice, tended to Iestin's wound, and plied him with water and medicine when he periodically awoke from his dozing. In the late afternoon, he noted that Iestin was sweating profusely, and he continued to ply his companion with water and medicine when he awoke from his dozes. The fisherman was perspiring profusely by late afternoon as the fever began to break, and as the sun began to settle toward the sea, Iestin opened his eyes. They were clear once more, and Gwydion smiled at his friend in relief.
"Ah, I am a new man," Iestin said with feigned strength. "Time to launch my ship, or we will be here until old Llyr comes back to take us to his watery home!" He stood stiffly, and limped about the camp to get blood back into his limbs. With another clean wrapping of his wound, Iestin declared himself ready.
In the afternoon, Gwydion had labored to right the ship and turn it, taking advantage of the high tide, working the vessel about, until the bow was finally facing the sea.
Iestin pulled himself gingerly over the rail, and settled himself to handle the tiller, attempting to impress the prince with his readiness, barking orders at him as if he were a raw sea hand. Gwydion followed the orders without complaint and with an inward smile, and finally, with a mighty heave, freed the ship from the sand as Iestin hauled up the mainsail, taking advantage of an inland breeze.
The prince leaped aboard as Iestin skillfully but narrowly avoided grinding the hull against a huge boulder. Gwydion grabbed the main sail lines and urgently hauled them one way or the other, as the fisherman steered the vessel and shouted commands. After a few desperate moments—once scraping between two great pillars that rose as sharp as wolves' teeth from the foam— the Briallen was once again in the open sea.
The sun was already setting swiftly into the ocean, as the Briallen rounded the long stony outcropping they had approached before, the northernmost point of Mona. The two men looked about themselves and the new expanse of open sea facing them, well aware that they were again vulnerable to any vessels that might be patrolling there.
However, no sails or ships were to be seen. Instead, in the eastern distance the last light of day reflected from distant turrets that seemed to rise from the sea itself, like sharp claws from some great beast.
"We will remain here until nightfall," Gwydion said, as his companion nodded, and lowered the sail.
The water was too deep for the anchor, so the ship drifted with the tide. The prince watched as the fading rays of light climbed higher and higher, finally above the tower pinnacles, and the castle faded into an ominous darkness.
Iestin raised the sail to half height, and little ship proceeded cautiously forward into the fading dusk. Soon, the great hulk of Caer Colur was unmistakable in the starlight. The prince remembered it well, with its graceful towers and delicate, intricately crafted stonework, and its huge wood and iron gates that had once opened toward verdant meadows and ancient trees. Now, those meadows and trees were long ago under the waves, and the gates would be facing toward the open sea.
"I would guess that most of the guards will be watching for an invasion from the landward side," he spoke to the fisherman, "and that the seaward side of the walls will be battered and cracked from many years of exposure to the waves. Let us approach from the far side." Nodding in agreement, Iestin steered the craft to port. Soon, the rusty, metallic moan of the partially submerged great gates could be heard, as the breakers of Llyr pounded upon them, relentlessly demanding to be let in.
"Should I drop anchor here?" Iestin asked. "With the island so close, I probably have enough line; then we can land the rowboat near the gates. From the looks of all that rubble, there must be a gap to be found somewhere."
Gwydion turned and faced his new friend in the darkness, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Here we part ways, fisherman of Mona. By your leave, I will take your rowboat, and I will compensate you for it, and for all of your brave service to Mona and to Prydain. Now, I beg you to return with haste to Mona Haven. Your wound still requires care, more than I can give. Also, when two days' time have passed after your return, I ask you to tell what you have learned to King Rhuddlum, and request from him in my name that he send his war vessels to Caer Colur. I hope that by the time they arrive, stealth will have won the day, and the matter will be in hand—but if worst comes to worst, the castle must be invaded by force. I am superstitious enough not to speak openly to you of who and what I expect to find there, but I think you have already surmised much. Rhuddlum must come prepared for battle—his own kingdom may hang in the balance."
Iestin thought for a moment before speaking. "Any other man I would call a fool for attempting what I believe it is you are about to attempt…but you are not any other man. It will be done as you command."
"It is not a command, but the request of one friend to another," Gwydion said.
"Let us unstow this little vessel," Iestin said huskily, and he busied himself unlashing the rowboat from the deck, and together, he and Gwydion carefully placed it into the water. Silently, Iestin handed the prince the great bow and the quiver of arrows, although only five remained. Gwydion took the oars, and moved a small distance away, before dropping them and raising his hand in farewell.
Iestin returned his salute, and again hoisted his sail. Soon, the Briallen was only a shadow as Iestin turned back toward the southwest, and home.
After Eilonwy had arrived in the early morning hours, Achren, accompanied by armed guards but speaking in a voice clearly calculated to be soothing, had immediately walked her up a flight of stairs and into a bed chamber. "Sleep well, my child," Eilonwy heard as the bolt was locked. "You have nothing to fear from me."
The bed, at least, was comfortable. She could see stars through an open window, and the broken courtyard far below. Hot tears pushed their way to her cheeks, but her exhaustion overcame her and she soon fell asleep, dreaming that Taran had grown great wings and was flying about searching for her, somewhere close by.
The princess awoke early, to a strange feeling that the room, maybe the castle itself, was watching her, but not in a distressful way. It was similar to some of the feelings she had known as a child, within Spiral Castle, but still quite different. This felt somehow comforting, as the stones around her seemed to wait patiently, expectantly. Also though, she sensed the pain, the brokenness, the unwholesomeness that she had felt in the boat. The castle was home in a strange way; it had been the home of so many of her ancestors, more than she could name. But its spirit had been broken. It waited for her for her to do something, to give something, to somehow heal the wounds, although she had no idea how.
Later in the morning, food was brought to her room by two imposing women, neither young nor old, that looked better suited to battle than to cooking or housekeeping. They said nothing, but just unbolted the door and marched in. One carried food and a pitcher of water on an old silver tray, while the other stayed and guarded the door, arms crossed. The first laid the tray on a small side table, and then both quickly withdrew, locking the door behind them. Still, the breakfast was passable, and she was starving. A noontime meal was served the same way, by the same two. They also brought water and towels for bathing, and a clean gown. In the afternoon, she took the opportunity to bathe and change.
The day dragged by slowly, until the sun was settling toward a bank of pink clouds lining the western sea. Finally, the door was unbolted once again, and her two attendants entered. This time, the shorter woman spoke. "Dinner will be served in the Great Hall. Follow me." Eilonwy could have found the way on her own, but was led by the pair back downstairs.
The destruction in the castle was depressingly pervasive, but clearly some effort had been made to restore the Great Hall to a semblance of its former grandeur. The debris had mostly been cleared away; fallen tapestries had been rehung, paintings righted. In the far corner, a winged sculpture of some goddess or Fair Folk princess stood, still lovely, although its shattered head had clearly been unartfully returned to its neck. Eilonwy was seated at one end of the long table, not at the head but in the right hand position—the position of highest honor besides the king or queen, she knew—in this case of course, it would have been the queen. Queen Regat. And the place where she was sitting…that would probably have been her mother's place. Startled by the thought into a more attentive awareness, she looked further about the hall. High on the facing wall, alcoves were built and mounted to the stone, and statues of regal queens looked silently down upon her. There were eleven alcoves in all; ten held statues. The last alcove stood empty. She was suddenly filled with sadness at the thought that there was plenty of room for more. The next alcove to be built could have been her own.
There was a pitcher of weak wine on the table, and she had taken a few sips when she felt a familiar presence enter the hall, and she glanced toward the doorway. Achren, dressed in a gown of dark grey, approached with her gold band at her brow, her silver hair throwing back the torchlight, and a relatively modest necklace with a single sparkling jewel at her throat. She was as stunningly beautiful as always, Eilonwy took note without real surprise. The years that Eilonwy had been free of her seemed to shrink away, and the princess feared that the former queen would touch her or try to embrace her. To her relief, Achren merely smiled her seductive smile, and seated herself at the chair at the head of the table. She put her chin on her clasped fingertips, and for a moment regarded the young princess. Finally she spoke.
"Ah, my child," said the former queen. "My apologies for not meeting with you earlier today, but there was much to attend to. I trust your chamber is comfortable? It was your aunt's…Eilwen, I believe her name was. Perhaps you were named for her."
Eilonwy was loath to speak for a moment. Still, she could not resist the opportunity. "I suppose you found that out when you were planning your last kidnapping…and until Prince Gwydion told me, I didn't know I had a real aunt. I only knew that I had a false one."
Achren's blue eyes flashed icily, but her face showed no sign of anger as she nodded humbly. "I apologize for the deception. I was only concerned with the comfort of a young child, and in earning your trust. I could not love you more, my dear, if I were your real aunt."
"Certainly, I believe that is true," Eilonwy replied. I don't believe you could love anyone more—that is, that you could love anyone at all."
Another flash, and this time the thin trace of a smile before Achren went on.
"I see your time with that old fool of an enchanter has not dulled the sharpness of your wit. How was it, living in the reek of pigs and manure? At least you had that young pig-keeper to keep you company, as well as the pigs. Which company did he enjoy more, I wonder?"
Eilonwy raised an eyebrow and stared at the former queen icily. "The farm is lovely and well cared for, and I think I know what you are trying to imply—but Taran and I are just…friends."
"Indeed," Achren said as she smiled again. "That is good to know. Your value to me, you must understand, would be considerably less if…well, I think you take my meaning. Let us speak of other things. Tell me, how did you find Dyrnwyn, and how did you know to take the sword from Spiral Castle? That was quite a blow to Arawn...especially when you delivered it to the Prince of Don. If I were not a little faster and a little cleverer than he, Arawn would have had my head on a pike."
"I didn't know to take it, exactly." Eilonwy hesitated again for a moment, still angry that Achren wanted to interrogate her as if she had a perfect right, after taking her—twice—against her will…and even had the nerve to insult Caer Dallben, and judge her friendship with Taran! It seemed so strange to honor Achren with a conversation, but there was a great deal she wanted to say to the old queen. "The sword was clearly the best available; it was in the hand of the king…and it called to me. I think it enjoyed deceiving you, all those years you searched for it in vain. It was aware of your searching…but it never would have served you, or Arawn."
"We never planned for it to serve us," Achren said with another grim smile. "Keeping it from serving a Son of Don though…he thought that was important. He knows little of the lore of the sword; in spite of his best efforts to find it…little except he thinks it is a danger to him. And in that, he is right." Achren smiled again. "Through my own family history, I know a bit more about what is written on the scabbard."
"What is it?" Eilonwy asked, her curiosity getting the better of her caution and bitterness. "I was able to read a word or two, but the rest was scratched out."
"No matter," Achren said. "My own knowledge is incomplete. Still, I might have given it to Gwydion willingly…under the right circumstances. So perhaps, my child, you unwittingly carried out my wishes.
"Now, let us speak of your bauble. Magg told that you must have lost it; that he never saw it with you, or at Dinas Rhydnant."
Eilonwy was put off her guard for a moment; this was the last question she had expected, but her anger at Magg's callousness still galled her. "I don't know if he saw it or not," she finally replied, "but I certainly had it in the fold of my gown when he kidnapped me. It fell by the riverbank, when he was throwing me in the boat…I tried to make him understand I wanted it back. He had me gagged, but was clearly in a hurry, and couldn't be bothered to understand what I was trying to say."
Achren stood, and her face was suddenly livid. "That imbecile!" she spat out venomously, as she paced back and forth behind her chair in obvious frustration. "He should pay with his worthless life…and very probably he still will…but after he retrieves it. That I must suffer to be surrounded by such fools. I, Achren…it is simply beyond the pale."
"I love my bauble, and certainly I want it back, but why are you so concerned about it?" Eilonwy asked, genuinely curious. Since she had been a child, the bauble had always been there, just a part of her, as much as her fingers or toes. Achren had never taken much interest in it that she recalled, but had just silently accepted that it was always with her.
Achren slowly regained her composure, apparently calming herself with some effort, and she finally took her seat again.
"It belongs to you, my dear," Achren went on. "It belongs to this house, to the House of Llyr. Now, the house and you are one and the same, and your heritage needs to be returned to you. That is all I want, child. I want you to be able to reclaim your birthright..."
The queen's voice trailed off for a moment, but then she continued, "There are other parts of your heritage also, that must be located. However…I have seen it. They will be found, as will your bauble. Of this I am certain."
"It all sounds very kind and lovely," Eilonwy said, "you helping me reclaim my birthright…but if I may ask, what will you get out of it?"
Achren smiled her grim smile, the tips of her sharp teeth showing beneath blood red lips before she spoke. "Your victory will also be mine, my dear. You see, the fates of the House of Llyr, and of its powers and enchantments, and mine…they are bound together. Many years ago, before you were born, I aided your grandmother, and your mother against the power of Arawn, moving against the kingdom of Llyr. In the process, my enchantments, and those of Llyr, especially those that hold together this island, this castle…they became intertwined. They can no longer be separated; not by me or by any other power."
Without thinking, Achren's eyes had glanced to the alcoves high on the wall, and Eilonwy's own followed the movement. The last statue, tall, regal, and proud, seemed to be frowning down on them—upon Achren. Eilonwy's mind automatically went to her name, as she had always known it: Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat. Regat. In her mind, the room tilted and moved, and she trembled.
"Perhaps you yourself deceived them, and you helped Arawn bring down the House of Llyr." Eilonwy purposefully glanced toward the statues, especially the last one.
"It is not true, my dear," replied Achren. "You should know as well as anyone my feelings about Arawn, and that I would not willingly aid him. As to the fate of your family...there were misunderstandings, and unfortunate things—things that I regret—did happen. In any case, what I have told you is true.
"You spoke of Gwydion…perhaps you did not know that he could have perhaps been your father, in a different reality. Your mother Angharad, she had a strong will, and would listen to no one; not even Regat. She was much like you...having met your actual father though —I must say I can understand your mother's feelings in the matter; he was a memorable man. Even I do not know for certain what their fate was; they have gone where I cannot follow. However, I can show you many things; things that you have most probably always wondered about. I can even show you your mother…at least, as she was when I knew her. She will even be able to speak to you, after a fashion, and you can learn much about her, and about your heritage, the lore of the house of Llyr—and even of the plans I have for you, in restoring you to your proper place."
Eilonwy's mind reeled with curiosity and suspicion, but curiosity won out. Her own memories of her mother were so vague; she was only a small child when she had last seen her. "You could do that?" she blurted out without thinking, but then added, "Why would you want to help me in this, to see my mother?"
"Oh, selfishness, just as you suspect, "Achren replied. "Helping you is helping myself, as I told you. What I said is possible, but I would need to put you under a spell for a short time. Very much like some of the spells I was starting to teach you at Spiral Castle…but you must submit to this willingly. I cannot perform the rite otherwise."
Eilonwy caught her breath, and was silent for a long moment. This could be dangerous, she knew…but the temptation was just too strong.
"I can't deny I would like to see my mother, even if it is only your memories of her."
"Very well then." Achren leaned forward and took Eilonwy's hand in hers. With her other hand, she pulled forth the bright multicolored jewel that shone on the necklace at her throat. It drew Eilonwy's eyes, and they fixed upon it.
"Daughter of Llyr," Achren spoke, "You must learn of your inheritance…" The jewel blossomed into a star and grew brighter, while all else seemed to fade to grey.
"…and to do this, you must obey my commands…"
The unmistakable feel of enchantment crackled in the air; its acrid smell was around her like woodsmoke. Eilonwy began to nod, but then suddenly shook her head. Something was wrong; this felt wrong. Why on earth had she agreed to it? Was she really ready to put her mind in Achren's hands, just to see a memory?
She began to murmur, "I am Eilonwy, Daughter of Angharad, Daughter of Regat…"
The room, the stones, the statues, they were all alive now, as if they responded to her voice. She was aware of many other voices, some pleading, some speaking encouragement. These were her people. This was her home. Not Achren's. Not realizing it, she drew her hand away.
"You will obey my commands!" spoke a voice, but it was not the voice of Achren. It was her own voice.
Eilonwy's eyes opened, and through a dark red prism Achren's face appeared, but it was not Achren's. It was something ancient and decayed, like the face of the king in the chamber under Spiral Castle. It was twisted in pain and surprise, and something akin to fear. The unbridled power of her ancestors filled the princess, like burning ice flowing under her skin, and overflowing, it made her face glow, it shot from her eyes and her fingertips. The sounds were louder now, almost deafening in her ears. She knew suddenly that the voices in the hall were mixed with the sounds of a pounding, relentless fury…the sea. She was a daughter of the sea. The sea was coming to help her. It was coming for Achren.
"I call on the ground beneath our feet, the very foundations of this fortress, the Goddess of the Earth…" Achren chanted in an ancient tongue that Eilonwy knew instinctively, the queen's voice uncharacteristically high and strained. The chant was followed by even more ancient words, the words of power she had heard Achren utter from behind closed doors when she was a child, uttered rapidly now and with resonating force. The spell hit her like a gale, a whirlwind of power, taking her breath, ripping through her mind and body to her soul.
The stones of the fortress shrieked and groaned and ground against each other, and the voices and sounds of the sea began to diminish into the distance. The fury and flame that had filled her shrank back down, down, to just a pinpoint of light, where she thought she saw Taran's anxious face.
Then the princess saw a face once again, but not Achren's. Had the queen for once, told her the truth?
"My child, I am so glad you are with me. You must listen to me now, and learn what I have to teach you…" spoke a delicious, comforting voice. The voice of her mother. Or was it Achren's? She could not be sure. Perhaps they were one and the same, wherever she was now.
Achren, breathing heavily, sagged in her chair while Eilonwy, finally entranced, stared into space. The queen held up her hand, now an ancient claw with golden rings hanging loosely on mottled skin over brittle bone. Slowly, with effort, she willed the young pink flesh to return, spreading once more over her like a soothing balm, over the truth of what lay beneath, as her breath finally calmed. Still, her heart was racing. In the long years of her life, she could not recall the last time she had felt such a thing; perhaps before Arawn had cast her out. Could this be fear? Peculiar for her now, to feel any such base emotion.
Eilonwy had shown great strength and determination, and she had drained her. All of her hopes…they hung by a thread now. In one of the last prophesies her arts had availed her to see, before they began to fail so completely: she had seen Eilonwy at the Altar of Llyr, with the Golden Pelydryn, and with the Book of Spells of her ancestors. That vision must be true, and not just a mocking shadow, a reflection of her own desires. She had to believe it, or the utter despair that pressed on her like a gnawing beast would surely drive her mad.
Gwydion turned the little craft toward the great gates, groaning in the darkness like enormous dragons, tortured by the unending waves and tides. Glancing over his shoulder to correct his course, in a few moments he was just before the ancient portals. He let the boat drift for a moment as he searched for a landing point in the darkness. Finally, just left of the gates, he spied a spot blacker than the rest. Steering toward it, he saw a hollowed crevice in the great walls, almost a small cave. Silently he paddled the boat into it, and soon it ground to a halt on rough gravel beneath the surface.
The prince stood and tightened his sword belt, and slung the quiver and bow over his shoulder. He emerged from the hollow and scrambled over the broken stone toward the gates. Just above the left lintel, the once graceful bastion was split in two by some great force, almost to ground level. Scrambling up a pile of loose stone into the breach, he cautiously raised his head and looked inside.
A few torches were lit in the broad courtyard, and he could see two guards, their heads low and bent together as they spoke. He watched patiently for a few moments, until finally the pair moved toward the entrance to the Great Hall, and passed through an ornate portal.
He moved quickly left, along the shadows of the wall, into an area of even greater darkness, and surveyed the remains of Caer Colur, as his eyes adjusted further to the dim starlight. He sucked in his breath and raised his hand shield his eyes, and to wipe away the sudden tears.
Caer Colur had once been the most beautiful palace in all his experience, in all of Prydain, even more so than Caer Dathyl. If Caer Dathyl was a man, Caer Colur had been a woman—a strong woman, but with beautiful lines and delicate grace, befitting the tastes of its long line of proud matriarchs. Now, it was only the bones of a broken corpse, its regal bearing still obvious, but completely shattered, first by the cataclysm that had ripped it and sank it, and then by the ravages of time and neglect. Still, the island held together. How had it not fallen? His own heritage made him aware of the use of enchantment, and he could feel it under the surface of his skin, in his mouth like the grinding of teeth. It was disturbing, for in it he could sense both the high sweet elixir of the magic of Llyr, and the relentless, more somber powers of Achren, somehow mixed together in a tainted, bitter brew. He realized he had felt something similar before. It was when he had found the old alter of Llyr, somehow poisoned, on the distant island of Lluned.
He shook his shaggy head, and cleared his eyes. His goal now was finding Eilonwy; he must focus on his objective. In the darkness, he stole toward the Great Hall, and the scattered dim lights he saw from the huge windows that rose from twice a man's height up to almost the eaves of the arched roof. It was usually best to start with the obvious.
The tall windows had once been exquisitely beautiful and unique, paned in artistic patterns by finely-framed thin slices of translucent stone of various colors. The ancient artists had depicted Rhiannon, Llyr, Belin and other deities that were worshipped or revered by the Daughters of Llyr. Many of the panes now lay broken at his feet. The prince stole from window to window, until at last at one window he heard muffled voices within. He stopped and strained to listen.
"…But your Highness, I swear to you again, I never saw the bauble on the princess' person. I assumed it was lost, and knowing how you had impressed upon me previously its great value, I certainly would have taken it and kept it safe myself."
"Indeed, I thought I had made it very clear to you that possessing that golden orb was almost as important as securing the princess herself. I assume you searched her chambers for it thoroughly at Dinas Rhydnant prior to your departure? For surely you must have realized that I would be most displeased if it were not delivered together with the princess."
"Yes…yes, of course," the steward replied, his voice faltering. "I searched through all her possessions, and it was not to be found…The young lady is at times a bit scatterbrained; it is not hard to imagine her misplacing it."
"Indeed, I'm sure you did," Achren went on, her voice dripping with contempt at the obvious lie. "So you don't recall dragging the girl to your boat and throwing her inside, while she tried to tell you something of utmost importance, but you were too impatient and foolish to find out what it might be? The bauble lies by the riverbank, unless a heron or kingfisher has taken it to its nest for an egg. You will depart at once tomorrow to retrieve it, and if Rhuddlum's men find you and take your head for a traitor, so much the better."
"…but my Queen, surely it will be better to wait until the search in the area has subsided…The odds of success would be much better, in my opinion…"
Gwydion could hear no more, as Achren and Magg had apparently walked away, their voices fading into the distance. He had heard this tone of voice from Achren before, and he wondered how long Magg had to live. Achren suffered neither fools nor failure easily.
Nothing in the conversation though, had given him a clue to Eilonwy's location. He moved on in the darkness, and began a stealthy and systematic search of the buildings that seemed habitable, occasionally dodging the patrols of armed guards that periodically made a sweep of the castle grounds. But it was a large and intricate castle, with scores of places to search. He had managed to cover perhaps a third of the buildings and towers that seemed likely, when he sensed it was well into the early morning hours. His mission depended on stealth. He did not fear combat with the seemingly mediocre warriors that Achren's company primarily consisted of now—of even lower quality than he had faced on Lluned—but he must escape with the princess unharmed, with sufficient hours of darkness remaining that he could row to the mainland and be miles away with Eilonwy before her loss was discovered. Finally, frustrated, and with dawn only a few hours away, he decided it was time to curtail the search and head to shore. He believed Eilonwy safe enough; Achren had all but confirmed that she had kidnapped her not for revenge, but for another purpose.
An hour later, just as the sky over the mainland of Prydain had begun to lighten, he landed his skiff near the marshlands at the mouth of the Alaw. Hiding the craft with a cover of dried seaweed and marsh reeds, he saw a field of tall sedge nearby, which would provide him with drier cover and a place to sleep.
As the sun began to rise and the marsh birds and frogs announced the arrival of morning, an array of fresh thoughts presented themselves to him, waiting to be analyzed. He tried to shape the pieces together into something that made more sense, something that would complete the riddle that had been perplexing him.
He thought of the sword at his side. How key Eilonwy had been, in finding the sword and delivering it to him, and in the process, causing not only Spiral Castle's ruin but also Achren's downfall in the eyes of Arawn. Dallben had hinted at this; allusions to it were made in The Book of Three. Eilonwy was meant to find it, he knew.
Achren's actions, in many respects, seemed to make no sense. Obviously, she wanted to make use of Eilonwy's latent powers of enchantment, but as far as he knew, the queen still did not have the means to make that happen. Two ancient artifacts of Llyr were required for that, as Angharad had told him long years ago.
One was called the Golden Pelydryn—which he had always known to be Eilonwy's bauble, clearly pressed into the hands of a child by her mother. Achren would have it now, if not for the bumbling of Magg. The other was more elusive, and had not been seen as far as he knew since around the time of Llyr's fall, and the disappearance of Princess Angharad. It was an ancient book, containing the spells of the Daughters of Llyr, carefully recorded on its pages over centuries.
Why would Achren go to such lengths and take such risks, if she did not have either of these things, or know that she soon would have them? It would be folly, a desperate venture doomed to failure. He knew though, that Achren did nothing without reason. She was eminently practical, was Achren.
He thought of the legends of the ancient queen, and that among her powers was an occasional gift of prophesy, or foresight. It was how she had managed to stay ahead of her enemies, to quash rebellions before they started. She had ruled Prydain for an age. The gift had only failed her when it came to Arawn…every fortune teller has a blind spot when it comes to themselves, went the old folk proverb.
Might she have seen that these objects would be found, and so she was acting with certain knowledge?
Then again, why did Achren need Eilonwy in the first place? Her own powers were formidable, both according to legend and his own more recent knowledge. She should not need the princess so desperately. Except…the old queen had been betrayed by Arawn. Arawn's powers, as he knew them, as he had felt them, were related to hers, almost identical to hers. Gifted from her, as she had told him once…possibly also, stolen from her.
So if they were stolen, was it not logical to assume that she could no longer possess them, or at least not to the same degree?
Again he thought of the strange taste of the enchantment that currently held Caer Colur together. He had sensed Achren's power, and it was clearly an enchantment of enormous strength, although mixed with the powers of Llyr. Could it be that she had poured so much of herself into that bond, for whatever reason she had thought was important at the time, that she had left precious little for herself alone?
The riddle was beginning to fall into place.
Achren, by herself, was now weak.
Achren was desperate to control Eilonwy. If she could control a Daughter of Llyr, then her own previous powers could possibly also be used and controlled.
Achren must know that the ancient treasures of Llyr were either already found, or would be shortly. She must have foreseen it, perhaps many years ago. She was not satisfied to leave the discovery only to chance however…he recalled the ransacking of Caer Dyfi, the ancient outpost of Llyr on the island of Lluned.
As it was, Gwydion also had a gift of foresight. Indirectly yes, through his friendship with Dallben, but no less formidable. Eilonwy—perhaps, as Dallben always said—had a very different future, as foretold by The Book of Three.
Thus, both things might be true, as improbable as it seemed. Eilonwy might both come to possess the ancient talismans that controlled the enchantments of Llyr, and she might also eventually live a very different life, as Dallben had said, and as he wanted to believe.
Achren must have had a vision…but that did not mean she could see all ends. The old proverb again came to his mind. Perhaps it was true.
Finally, as the disk of the sun was fully visible and the chorus of the marsh birds and wildlife had reached its raucous peak, the Prince of Don fell asleep.
When he awoke, the day was already late. Scratching insect bites, he rose and followed the riverbank of the Alaw, until he crossed a small, fresh stream from the hills. He bathed himself, and fashioned a wooden spike from the branch of a stunted willow tree. He headed back to the marshes, and was able to spear some fish and frogs to cook for a meal.
A shadow flashed overhead between him and the late afternoon sun, and immediately began to plummet toward him like a feathery meteor. Fearing the worst, he held up the spear defensively. He grinned and breathed a quick sigh of relief when he saw that it was not a gwythaint, but only a crow—one particular rascal crow.
Kaw perched on the shaft of the makeshift spear, and then hopped to his arm.
"Taran! Fflewddur! Gurgi! Rhun!" He croaked. "River!"
It took the crow only a moment or two to remember that Gwydion understood his native speech, and he began to jabber excitedly, explaining everything that had happened to the companions since they had left Dinas Rhydnant a few days before, up to the time where Kaw had lost them. He told of Rhun's discovery of the bauble, and the prince was greatly relieved to think that Magg's search of the riverbank would be in vain. Kaw delighted especially in the story of his duel with the monster cat. Had Gwydion not known Kaw better, he might have thought the story a bit exaggerated, in the manner of most crows. As it was, he listened with dismay. There was no telling what such a powerful and possibly enchanted creature might be capable of, and he feared for Taran and the others.
"So…the companions have the Pelydryn. The Book of Spells, though, it is still a mystery…" Gwydion said mostly to himself, as he scratched the back of Kaw's neck and the bird hunched up in pleasure.
"Book!" Kaw exclaimed. The sharp-eyed crow missed very little, especially when it came to interesting objects he had not seen before.
"Rhun!"