There was a familiar shout, and a figure crashed through a tangle of shrubs, hacking with a drawn sword at the bushes around her; she yanked her bauble from her pocket and held it before the astonished face of her attacker. "You and that sword!" she groaned, in mingled relief and exasperation. "Every time I see you, you're waving it around or pointing it at somebody. Put that thing down."
Taran's mouth gaped, but before he could answer, Gurgi ran past them both, evading a tall figure that had come running toward them, sword in hand. "Help, help!" he squealed. "Angry lord will harm Gurgi's poor tender head with slashings and gashings!"
Taran, torn from his shock, grabbed her arm and pulled her through a gap in the brush, into a small hollow. "What have you done?" he gasped. "Do you want us all killed? Put out that light!" He snatched her bauble and tried vainly to cover its glow with fumbling hands.
"You'll never learn how to use that," she snapped, grabbing it back and shrouding it quickly, cross with him for being so disagreeable. Of course she hadn't expected him to be ecstatic, exactly, about her following, but he needn't act so horrified either.
A firm hand touched her shoulder. Adaon stood there, his handsome face grave. "Princess," he said reproachfully, "Princess, you should not have followed us."
His voice was so gently reproving that she almost felt ashamed, for just a moment, but Taran broke in like a thunderstorm, raving. "Of course she shouldn't," he sputtered. "She must return immediately! She's a foolish, scatterbrained—,"
"She is uncalled and unwanted here," a third voice interrupted, and she recognized the sneering tone of the prince who had trounced Taran at Caer Dallben. He strode forward, and looked down his nose at her, his eyes flashing scorn. "For once the pig-boy shows sense. Send the little fool back to her pots."
With a furious growl she launched herself at him - or would have, had not Adaon's grip on her shoulder held her back. But Taran had whirled on Ellidyr, fists clenched. "You hold your tongue," he spat hoarsely. "I have swallowed your insults for the sake of our quest, but you will not speak ill of another!"
Tingling warmth flooded through her at this; the flush in her face, birthed by outrage, was suffused by a deeper one of pleasure at his springing to her defense. The two youths faced each other, swords upraised, postures taught. She forgot, all at once, that she was angry with Taran; his eyes were blazing with righteous indignation, his jaw set and clenched, face flushed, and he looked...oh, what exactly? It was silly, and foolish, and hotheaded of him to pick a fight, and yet...and yet…
She stood tense, breath held, her heart pounding, waiting for one of them to strike. But Adaon, releasing her, stepped between the young men. "Enough, enough," he commanded, calmly authoritative, and instantly the sword points drooped. "Are you so eager to shed blood?"
Taran took a step back, a little shame-faced, but Ellidyr threw his chin out defiantly. "Must I hear reproof from a pig-boy?" he demanded. "Must I let a scullery maid cost me my head?"
"Scullery maid!" Eilonwy lunged toward him again. "I can tell you, you—,"
But her remaining words were muffled in Adaon's jacket, which was probably just as well. He steered her firmly away with strong arms, but she noted that Ellidyr had turned, sneering, back to Taran, over whose shoulder Gurgi was peering in trepidation. "And this!" Ellidyr cried, with a bitter laugh, pointing at Gurgi, "this thing! Was this the black beast that so alarmed you, dreamer?"
She felt the slump in the young man's bearing as he turned back to answer. "No, Ellidyr. It is not."
Gurgi clutched Taran's cloak. "This is Gurgi the warrior! Yes, yes! Clever, valiant Gurgi, who joins master to keep him from harmful hurtings!"
Ellidyr snorted in derision, and Taran shook off the creature's clinging grasp impatiently. "Be silent," he ordered. "You've caused trouble enough."
Eilonwy scowled as Gurgi cowered back, crestfallen, and Adaon turned to her. "How did you reach us? You are on foot."
She shrugged. "Well, not really. At least, not all the way. The horses didn't run off until a little while ago."
Taran looked toward her again, his face aghast. "What? You took horses from Caer Dallben and lost them?"
She bristled at the implied accusation. "You know perfectly well they're our own horses, given us by Gwydion last year, so what we do with them is our business. And we didn't lose them. It was more as if they lost us. We only stopped to let them drink and the silly things galloped away." She sighed, and stretched her hand, still sore from the burn of the reins ripping from her grasp. "They were frightened I suppose. I think they didn't like being so close to Annuvin. Though I'll tell you, it doesn't bother me in the least." This was, perhaps, not totally true, but she wasn't going to admit that to them.
"In any case, you needn't worry about them," she added. "Last we saw they were heading straight back for Caer Dallben."
"And so shall you be," Taran declared. She stomped toward him, seething, and stared him in the face.
"So shall I not! I thought about it a long time after you left. Every bit as long as it took you to cross the fields." He rolled his eyes heavenward, but took a step back, and she advanced, poking a finger into his chest. "And I decided it doesn't matter what anyone says, fair is fair. If you can be allowed on a quest, so can I. And there it is, as simple as that."
He opened his mouth to object, but Gurgi jumped between them, squirming proudly. "And it was clever Gurgi who found the way! Yes, yes, with whiffings and sniffings! Gurgi does not let gentle princess go alone, oh, no. And loyal Gurgi does not leave friends behind."
Taran looked from one to the other of them, and she read his frustration and anger, but beneath it was a glimmer of protective fear, and she softened again, albeit unwillingly. Why couldn't he just say he was worried about her safety, instead of behaving like a bully and ordering her about as though she were a child? Assistant pig-keepers were the most trying creatures alive.
"Since you have come this far, you may await Gwydion," Adaon said, stepping between them, "although how he will deal with you two runaways may not be to your liking." He glanced down at her torn and muddy garments and his mouth twitched in sympathetic amusement. "Your journey seems to have been more difficult than ours. Rest now, and take refreshment."
Gurgi immediately pricked his ears, his abashment forgotten. "Yes, yes! Crunchings and munchings for brave, hungry Gurgi!"
Adaon smiled down at him, and she was struck, once again, with how handsome he was, especially when he smiled. Why couldn't other people learn such lovely manners? "That's so very kind and thoughtful of you," she told him, and added, deliberately not glancing at Taran, "much more than you can expect from certain assistant pig-keepers."
Gurgi scampered off, following Adaon to the provision store. Taran huffed, and she turned to see him slumping onto a boulder, his sword across his knees. She folded herself to the ground beside him, leaning into the cold stone. "It's not that we're starving,"she said, casually, to break the silence. "Gurgi had his wallet of food." Taran twitched, and she shot him a warning glance. "Yes, and that was a gift from Gwydion too, so he had every right to take it. It's certainly as magic as he claimed; it never seems to get empty. I'm sure the food is nourishing, and wonderful when you need it, but...the truth of the matter is, it's rather tasteless. That's often the trouble with magical things. They're never quite what you'd expect."
He made no reply. She determined to stop babbling about nothing, and they sat in silence for several moments. His brooding worry filled it up, shrouding her in a cloud.
"You're angry, aren't you," she said finally, flatly. "I can always tell. You look as though you've swallowed a wasp."
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "If you'd just stopped to think of the danger instead of rushing off without knowing what you're doing—,"
"You're a fine one to talk, Taran of Caer Dallben," she retorted, "always running into trouble as you do. But you know, I don't think you're really as angry as all that. Not after what you said to Ellidyr." She glanced sideways at him, and he shuffled his feet, turning away just a little in embarrassment, so she went on, relentlessly, enjoying his revelatory discomfort. "It was wonderful the way you were ready to smite him because of me. Not that you needed to," she added, with a sniff. "I could have taken good care of him myself."
He glanced at her sidelong, his mouth taking on the ghost of his grin; mollified, she leaned her head back against the stone. "And I didn't...didn't mean that you weren't kind and thoughtful," she murmured,"You really are, often. It just doesn't always occur to you."
He was still looking at her, intently now, and she was conscious of how warm her face was, how the intensity of his gaze made her feel suddenly, uncomfortably exposed. It was intolerable, and she covered her tension with a subtle jibe. "For an assistant pig-keeper, you do amazingly well."
He snorted and straightened up, his mouth tilting wryly, and she readied herself, relieved, for a similarly double-edged comment. But there was a warning shout from the edge of the grove, and in a burst of broken branches and crackling dry leaves, a horse plunged into their camp, and then a shaggy pony. Taran leapt up, and she with him, recognizing even in the darkness the lanky shape and wild hair of Fflewddur Fflam as he flung himself from the saddle and ran to Adaon, shouting, "Make ready to leave! Take the weapons and get the pack horses moving! We're going to Caer Cadarn..."
He caught sight of her, then, and stuttered to a halt, his eyes wide with dismay. "Great Belin! What are you doing here?"
"I'm tired of being asked that," she snapped. Taran ran forward impatiently.
"The cauldron!" he gasped. "Did you seize it? Where are the others? Where's Doli?"
There was a grumble from the empty air over the pony's back. "Here, where else?" The dwarf popped into view, sitting in the saddle, his face as red as his hair. "Didn't even take the time to make myself visible again," he grunted, throwing his short leg over and dropping to the ground. "Oh, my ears!"
Fflewddur had turned back to Adaon, gesticulating in his excitement. "Gwydion orders us to fall back immediately. He and Coll are with Morgant and they'll catch us up if they can. If not, we all rally at Caer Cadarn."
Ellidyr and Adaon moved at once to the tethered animals to tend to them. Taran raced to Fflewddur's side, and she joined them in packing up the weapons. The bard snatched a bow and quiver of arrows, pressing them into her arms. "Take these. And the rest of you, arm yourselves well."
Taran looked pale. "What happened? Did the plan fail?"
Fflewddur threw his long arms out dramatically. "The plan? It was perfect! Couldn't have been better! Morgant and his men rode with us to Dark Gate. Oh, that man! What a warrior! Not a nerve in him, cool as you please. You might have thought he was going to a feast." He pulled a kerchief from a pocket in his tunic and mopped his brow. "There we were on the very threshold of Annuvin. Oh, you'll hear songs about that, mark my words!" His face took on a relishing light Eilonwy recognized, and she would not have been surprised had he burst into spontaneous song that very moment, but Doli came trotting up, leading the pack horses and scowling.
"Stop yammering!" the dwarf groaned. "Yes, the plan was fine! It would have gone slick as butter. There was only one thing wrong. We wasted our time and risked our necks for nothing!"
She was losing patience rapidly. "Will one of the other of you make sense? I don't care about songs or butter! Tell us straight out—where is the cauldron?"
"I don't know!" Fflewddur exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Nobody knows!"
She stared at him, dumbfounded. The whole reason for the quest? How had they managed to muff it? "You didn't lose it!" she cried, clapping a hand to her mouth. "No! Oh, you pack of ninnies! Great heroes, indeed. I knew I should have gone with you from the beginning."
Doli clenched his fists furiously, his pointed ears scarlet. "Nobody lost it!" he roared. "Don't you understand? The cauldron is gone! It's not there!"
"That's not possible!" Taran cried.
The dwarf paced angrily. "Don't tell me it isn't possible!" he snapped. "I was there. I know what I saw. I know what I heard. I went in first, just as Gwydion ordered. I found the Hall of Warriors, no trouble at all - no guards, in fact! Aha, think I, this will be easier than whistling! I slipped in — could have done it in full view in broad daylight. And why? Because there's nothing to guard! The platform was empty!"
"Then Arawn has moved the cauldron," Taran exclaimed. "There must be a new hiding place. He's locked it up somewhere else!"
"Don't you think I have the wits I was born with?" Doli demanded. "That was the first idea that came into my head. So I set off again—I'd have searched Arawn's own chamber if I'd had to. I hadn't gone six paces before I ran into a pair of his guards. Or they ran into me, the clumsy oafs. I went along with them a little way, and by then I'd heard enough.
"It must have happened a few days ago. How or who I don't know. Neither does Arawn, and you can imagine his rage! But whoever they were, they got there ahead of us and did their work well. The cauldron is gone from Annuvin!"
Eilonwy, trying to follow his tirade, understood this part well enough. "But that's wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Our task is done and it cost us nothing more than a journey."
Adaon, coming up beside Taran, shook his dark head gravely. "Our task is far from done."
Taran frowned in confusion. "We've lost the glory of fighting for it," he said, "but the important thing is that Arawn has it no longer."
"It is not so easy," said Adaon. "This is a stinging defeat for Arawn; he will do all in his power to regain the cauldron. But there is more. The cauldron is dangerous in itself, even out of Arawn's grasp. What if it has fallen into other evil hands?"
"Exactly what Gwydion himself said," Fflewddur interjected. "The thing has somehow got to be found and destroyed without delay. Gwydion will plan a new search from Caer Cadarn. It would seem our work has just begun."
"Mount your steeds," said Adaon. "We cannot overburden our pack animals; the Princess Eilonwy and Gurgi will share our own horses."
Ellidyr sniffed, glancing at Eilonwy disdainfully. "Islimach will bear only me. She has been trained so, from a foal."
She wanted to retort that she wouldn't have shared his horse if her life depended on it, but Taran was already pulling her toward Melynlas. "I would expect that from a steed of yours," he shot back over his shoulder. "Eilonwy will ride with me."
There was a note in his voice that sounded almost...smug. He leapt into the saddle and held down a hand for her. Eilonwy set her foot in the stirrup and he pulled her up in one smooth motion that somehow made her think distractedly of that effortless way he'd shouldered the heavy basket of turnips in the root cellar. And then she was settled behind him, staring at his back, and found herself blushing at the thought of having to hold onto him once they began moving. Rubbish! She'd done that before, when necessary; what was wrong with her?
But she had little time to contemplate any alternatives. No sooner had the rest of the small band mounted their horses, than wild cries erupted into the grove, and the hiss and thump of flying arrows filled the air.
Chaos broke loose; Melynlas reared up with a scream, and Eilonwy clutched her arms around Taran's waist, awkwardness forgotten as she held on for dear life. There was a clash of metal on metal, and more horses screaming, and then Adaon shouted out above the din. "These are Huntsmen! Fight free of them!"
Huntsmen. She'd heard of them, in horror tales around the fire; servants of Arawn, sworn to him with a blood oath and bound in a profane brotherhood; when one was slain, the rest gained his strength and fought all the harder. Awash in cold terror, she could do nothing but hold on, as the shadows around them seemed to lunge forward, filling the air with roars and shrieks more akin to the gibbering of wild beasts than any human cry.
She felt Taran swing his sword blindly, hampered by the darkness and her own clinging arms, but she dared not let go so long as Melynlas continued his efforts to break clear of their attackers. Beneath her calves she felt the stallion's muscles bunch and jerk, every strike of his hoofs against the earth rattling her teeth and threatening to unseat her.
In a moment she realized she could see them, pale ghosts in the faint illumination of the first rays of dawn: huge men, their bodies wrapped in animal skins and leather straps, armed with long knives. Their faces were varied, but to a man they wore the same empty-eyed, mindless, enraged expression of bloodlust beneath an ugly-shaped, crimson brand on each forehead: the mark of Arawn. She had seen it before, on many of Achren's possessions, for all the queen had tried to deface it. She had seen it on Achren, herself, once, walking in while the queen was dressing: a livid mark marring the otherwise-flawless surface of that ivory back, an evil shape still visible beneath ugly scars that spoke of torturous attempts to remove it.
Achren had given her ample reason to try to forget what she had seen. Now that same mark, gleaming from hideous faces so close, burned her as though Arawn himself held the branding iron to her mind. Frozen, she could muster no defense as the jolting impact of the Huntsmen threw Melynlas off-balance.
She screamed as Taran was ripped from her arms, torn from the horse by one of the band, but this, at least, broke her free of paralysis. Her heart in her mouth, Eilonwy threw herself forward over the empty saddle, clutching it to pull herself up while she grabbed at the flying reins. Melynlas shied sideways, dancing nervously at the sudden loss of his master, and she scrambled to sit astride him properly, gripping the broad sides with her knees and fighting to regain control of his head, shouting at him all the while. If the blasted creature would only help her get back to Taran! She whirled around, desperately seeking him in the melee.
Suddenly the movement and noise stopped, like a candle blown out, just as she caught sight of Ellidyr, sword in hand, standing over Taran, who was sprawled upon the ground. Between them, the body of a Huntsman slumped, bleeding and lifeless.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears as swift realization gave way to dread. There was a sound like a sigh and then one great indrawn breath, rippling through the grove - and then, with a roar, the Huntsmen sprang into the battle with even greater ferocity.
Belin and Llyr! At least now her hands were free. Eilonwy yanked the bow from her shoulder and strung it with trembling fingers, caught up an arrow and nocked it to the string. Taran, having scrambled up, came running to her. "Do not slay them!" he cried. "Defend yourself but do not slay them!"
She nodded, voicing nothing but a breathless yelp of affirmation, taking aim at the nearest barbarian. There were dozens of places you could shoot someone without killing them…now if only he'd be still a half a minute…
Suddenly her target yelped, pummeled the air, and fell head over heels as though he had tripped over nothing. She lowered the bow, startled, as the man next to him tumbled to the ground and rolled away, shoved by invisible hands. He rose up, spitting and cursing, only to have a third warrior flung against him, the weapons flying from their hands as though of themselves, and flung into the bracken.
"Doli!" Taran's voice burbled in astonished triumph. "It's Doli!"
Despite the danger, Eilonwy laughed out loud, a defiant sound against the din, and the joy of it flooded her in a warm wave. She pushed herself back as Taran scrambled into the saddle once more.
Adaon cried out for them all to follow, and the stallion plunged forward, plowing through the shouting warriors and through the trees, into the open. Eilonwy clung to Taran's belt as he leaned low over the horse's neck. He glanced back, once, and she read in his face what she dared not look at, herself, to confirm: their enemies were in pursuit. She heard, from behind them, a long, wild, wavering cry that seemed to echo from the cliffs in an inhuman, malice-laden wail.
They raced on, up a hill, down an embankment. The horses wove in and out of clumps of grass, tangled and withered trees, and into an old riverbed. The clay banks flashed past, endless, for what felt like leagues, and then the embankment fell away and they cantered through a sparse forest.
Exhausted, legs aching, teeth rattling, Eilonwy held on, grimly determined not to complain, too preoccupied with holding on to do so, anyhow. They couldn't go on forever; they'd stop soon, and if the others could last so long, so could she.
Finally she felt the stallion's motion slow, and then they were all reining up, panting, in the shade of a thicket. Adaon bade them all dismount, and Taran gripped her hand as she slid to the ground with a groan.
"We dare not stay here long," Adaon warned. "There are few hiding places Arawn's hunters will not discover."
Fflewddur, his spiky hair plastered to his head with sweat, shook his fist in the direction they'd come. "Then stand and face them! A Fflam never shrinks!"
Eilonwy stared at him dubiously. Gurgi, sprawled upon the ground at his feet, waved his arm feebly. "Yes, yes," he moaned, "Gurgi will face them too!"
Adaon shook his head. "We shall stand against them only if we must. They are stronger now than before, and will not tire as quickly as we will."
At least there was one other sensible person present. But there ought to be some better solution than just running away endlessly. "What should—," she began, but Ellidyr had stomped into their midst, swearing angrily.
"We should make our stand now," he declared. "Is this the honor we gain from following Gwydion? To let ourselves be tracked down like animals? Or do you fear them too much?'
Ass, she thought, but next to her, Taran stiffened. "I do not fear them," he protested - she groaned inwardly - "but it is no dishonor to shun them. It's what Gwydion himself would order."
A pair of asses, then! Oh, why did he allow himself to be baited so? "Oh, be quiet, both of you," she burst out in disgust. "You worry so much about honor when you'd be better off thinking of a way to get back to Caer Cadarn."
Ellidyr snorted and turned his back upon them. Taran cast her one look of troubled frustration and slumped against a tree, clutching his head. He looked up fearfully as another long cry rang out, answered by another, and then another. His eyes slid anxiously to Adaon. "Are they giving up the hunt? Have we outrun them?"
"I doubt it." Adaon shook his head. "They would not pursue us this far only to let us escape." He gestured for all of them to gather the horses again. "We must ride until we find a safer place to rest. We would have little hope if we let them come upon us now."
Eilonwy turned back to Melynlas and found Taran hesitating at the horse's side. He glanced at her once, handing her the reins without a word before striding past her. She watched, curiously, as he trotted over and stopped Ellidyr with a hand on his arm.
"You fought well, son of Pen-Llarcau," he murmured, so low she could barely hear it. "I think that I owe you my life."
She could not see the older youth's face, but she heard the disdain in his voice as he replied. "It is a small debt. You value it more than I do."
To return a sincere word of humble gratitude with such cruel contempt! Eilonwy recoiled, her face as hot as if she had been slapped, and listened to the crunch of dead leaves as Ellidyr strode away. Fury stung her fingertips and filled her mouth with acrid, choking magic; she shut her teeth desperately; if she spoke right now, if she said a word, she would set the woods on fire. Her thoughts were best not spoken aloud, anyway; they were mostly blistering words she hadn't heard since escaping Spiral Castle, save from her own lips, epithets she had blurted out, ignorant of the extent of their vulgarity, in certain memorable moments at Caer Dallben her first few months there. She had promised a horrified Coll to do her best to avoid such language in future, but every last colorful phrase seemed to writhe in the back of her throat now.
Taran had returned and was gathering up the reins without looking at her, but his anger and embarrassment washed over her like the heat from an oven, adding to her own. He seemed not to notice her seething resentment, or perhaps he attributed it to continued ire toward him; she dared not reassure him on any point, knowing on instinct that he would be all the more humiliated if he knew she had heard the exchange. Her face still flamed as he pulled her up behind him, and when she settled into position she wrapped her arms around his waist without hesitation, pressing her cheek between his shoulders in silent support. He stiffened a little, and she felt his neck turn as though he would speak to her, but he said nothing, and in a moment they were moving again, leaving the thicket and driving deeper into the woods, under a sky grown as chill and grey as weathered stone.
