Gwydion and his impromptu war band had returned quickly to camp, where good Tomas had stood faithfully alone at guard. "I need less rest than you mortals," Doli whispered gruffly to Gwydion, "so I will keep watch so you and yours can get a few hours of sleep." Gwydion and his men accepted gratefully and were soon settled into their bedrolls, where sleep found them all as soon as they closed their eyes. All but Gwydion, who continued to mull the import of the evening's events in his restless mind, trying to fit different pieces into the mosaic of the future that was always half formed in his consciousness. Finally the weight of his weariness overcame him as well.

He awoke after sunrise to the sound of Eilonwy's lilting voice, chattering excitedly with Taran and Fflewddur about their pending arrival at Caer Dallben. "Tell me again about the apple trees," Eilonwy was saying, and Taran was only too happy to explain all the simple domestic details of farm life that seemed to enthrall her – Coll had planted many of them before he was born, but there were young ones that he had helped plant, after watching Coll germinate the seeds and coax the young saplings to a size where they could be replanted, how many apples they harvested a year, and so on. The two seemed to fascinate each other—when they weren't arguing—and their growing bond was obvious to all, but mostly he thought, to himself and to Fflewddur. He saw Fflewddur looking at them often with a little smile as they spoke, humming to himself, and sometimes glancing at Gwydion with a knowing wink.

He allowed himself a short moment to remember another voice that was so musical and so similar, on a bright clear morning next to an emerald green sea long ago, before opening his eyes. Angharad had never really needed or wanted his help, but perhaps he could still be of service to her daughter. If he had ever been bitterly angry with Achren before, the knowledge that she still pursued Eilonwy made him doubly so. Had she not interfered in the young girl's life enough?

Clearly, Achren had stolen Eilonwy from her parents—and may well have killed them both. At the very least, she could have been the cause of their disappearance. What did Achren hope to gain from the young princess, and where was she now?

In addition to Taran, Eilonwy and Fflewddur, Gurgi was awake as well, and he could sense the excitement of all. Avren was close, and Caer Dallben only a few hours beyond that.

"We will cross the Ystrad here," Gwydion announced, as his men aroused themselves and Doli sauntered back into camp, and all ate a quick breakfast. "Then we will strike southwest, for a narrower ford of Great Avren is to be found in that direction."

Soon all were in their saddles, and splashing through the Ystrad at a shallow ford, the cool water awakening them all fully and doing nothing to dampen the companion's growing exhilaration.

Gwydion rode alongside Fflewddur for a time, glad for an opportunity to speak alone with the bard king of Caer Fflam. "Well, my wandering cousin," he began with a gentle laugh, "How long has it been since you've been home this time? I know brave Cadwallon and good Baeddan will be missing you—and every child in the cantrev will be waiting to hear your magnificent tales. I believe you will have plenty of new ones to tell them."

"Great Belin, how long has it been?" Fflewddur exclaimed with a start, running a hand through his wild yellow locks. "I'd nearly forgotten I was a king at all; it seems like it's been ages. Before Achren got her hands on me…let's see…I wandered for a good three or four months in the spring, through the Llawgadarn settlements and the hill cantrevs…I visited with old King Smoit for the longest time; he loves a good song and a good story…and serves a belt-bursting meal, as you well know!

"I remember snow was still on the ground when I left the castle in Caer Fflam. So, it's been the better part of the year, and indeed it's high time I got back to check on things. They can't do without me for long you know; only I have the head for making those important decisions of state…"

Gwydion thought he heard a high tinny squeal, as if harp strings were stretched to their limits. Fflewddur cocked his head immediately at the sound, and continued on quickly.

"Actually, I'm quite sure they don't need me at all; they seem to do quite well without me, in some ways better…but I do think they miss me a bit, my dear friends at home, and I certainly miss them—even if I don't miss that dreary old castle. Be that as it may, I will certainly be heading back to Caer Fflam after we see Taran home… and I assume, after we see our lovely princess safely back to Caer Dathyl?"

Gwydion smiled. "It may well be, my friend, that the princess will remain at Caer Dallben for a time. There is much Dallben can teach her…and there may be other reasons, but do not speak of that just yet."

Fflewddur stared at him, but seemed more elated than surprised. "That sounds like a wonderful plan! No I won't mention it…if that horrid Achren is still looking for her, it's probably the best place she can be, from what I have heard of Dallben. What an existence the poor girl must have had, growing up thinking of her as her 'aunt.'" He shuddered, and rubbed his long nose nervously. "As I told Taran and Eilonwy before, she certainly has no ear for music! After I finished my first song that night—a rather rousing number, or so I thought, to get things off on a good foot— she looked at me as if I were a cockroach that needed squashing on the floor. "You call yourself a bard?" she said, with a voice as cold as an icicle, before ordering her guards to throw me in the dungeon. I've never been so frightened in my life of a woman, or of anyone else for that matter. A Fflam is courageous, but Achren…" He stopped, and shuddered again.


They rode silently for a while after that, and Gwydion himself thought of Achren. Yes, she was in most ways the very embodiment of haughty imperious power, caring little for others, sacrificing anything and destroying everything to obtain what she wanted. She had an incredible, cold beauty that could bring men to tears, and make them her willing slaves, just for the touch of her hand or even a kind word. Her appearance was not affected by time, but he knew her to be old, very old, with terrible crimes in her past, both committed by and upon her. Before accepting Arawn as her consort, she had ruled Prydain for a long age with an iron fist, without mercy and brooking no rivals.

Arawn had fooled her, as she had so often fooled others. Her infatuation with him was such that she had given him everything; most of her power, even her love. He had taken it all willingly, and then he betrayed her. He had cast her out finally, but kept her as a useful tool, installing her in ancient Spiral Castle, and ordering her to find the sword Dyrnwyn, which legend maintained was buried there. She had failed—and Gwydion surmised that the sword itself had decided on the time of its rediscovery, and by whom.

That was not all he knew of Achren, however. Buried in his own past, long ago—and for the most part he did not allow it to rise to the surface of his memory—he had known her. He had been captured by her then also...he had been younger, less experienced in the ways of the world. Still, he was well informed and had known of Achren for most of his life: what she was, who she had been, and what she was capable of. There was no excuse.

On that occasion too, she had brought him back to Spiral Castle, and had healed his injuries. Then however, she had revealed a side of herself that perhaps no man but Arawn had never seen. A side that was still cunning and manipulative, but also deeply alluring…fiercely and wildly passionate at times, and at other times—for brief moments— reluctantly tender, even slightly vulnerable. A side he had been unable to resist.

In his mind she stood before him, eyes on fire and dressed only in a treasure trove of jewels, that did nothing to hide her stunning beauty and the delicious, delicate delights of her body. His hands had ached to explore those delights; his lips had thirsted to taste them…and both had been satisfied. For once in his life, he had not tried to deny his own humanity.

For a short time, before realizing his own folly.

He had tarried there too long. Such was her enchantment that time seemed to move slowly; what he had thought was only a few weeks he later learned was almost two months. For a while, he had thought perhaps he could save her, change her, show her other ways, by which her intelligence and talents would also be rewarded, only this time for the good of Prydain. In the end, when he felt that was not possible; that he could not save her from the darkness that consumed and enveloped her, he made ready to leave.

In return she coldly said that he was nothing to her; that he was forgotten.

Gwydion knew that Eilonwy's kidnapping had occurred long after he had first met Achren, but still he felt twinges of guilt. Could he have sensed it, and possibly prevented it? He knew that in truth he had no way of knowing Achren's plans, and Angharad was only a young girl at the time. Still, he felt the guilt, as if he had failed Angharad in some way.

From all appearances at Spiral Castle, Achren had forgotten him indeed, although she could not quite keep up the charade before she threw him into the dungeon at Oeth-Anoeth. Underneath her fury after he spurned her offer of power, he thought he saw a trace of regret—that disappeared as soon as it surfaced.

Later he understood; he could not have survived except by her leave. She had tortured him in the worst ways imaginable; but allowed him to live, and in surviving he had learned much.

He shook his shaggy head, trying to clear the rush of memories and emotions from his mind. The past was gone; Achren was who she was, and what she had always been. As he was himself. He was a fool now, to think of her in any terms other than as his enemy.


As they rode on, he spoke further with Fflewddur about matters of great import to them both; including the antics and issues of the cantrevs and kings to the east of Caer Dathyl, those bordering on Fflewddur's own Cantrev Dunoding and Caer Fflam. It was true that Fflewddur had an unusual way of life for a king, but Gwydion had known him since he was a boy. He trusted him, and felt a great deal of affection for him—as he had for his father.

After a few hours' brisk ride through alternating meadows and forests, a long line of dense trees ahead signaled the approaching bank of the Avren. The companions picked through the dense underbrush to the river, and made their way single file down the slippery brown clay bank. Taran led, while Gwydion stayed in the rear to guard the north bank in case of surprise attack or any other trouble, and to ensure that the others crossed safely. The river was relatively calm, typical for this time of year which had a bit less rain, but as always it ran swift and cold.

Gwydion watched Taran carefully, remembering their experience fording the great Avren from the other direction a few months before, on the trail of Hen Wen. Taran did not know how to swim, or had not at that time. This time however, he was less the boy and more the man. Taran clearly now had less fear of the water, but still wisely let Melynlas do the swimming for him. He rode him well—low over Melynlas' neck, one hand firmly on the reins, the other clasping the front of the saddle. His practice fording the Ystrad had not been time wasted, Gwydion thought. After a few moments Melynlas was clambering up the southern bank, and Gwydion watched him with a measure of pride–and noticed the other companions and his own men were watching him in admiration as well.

Gwydion looked forward to speaking with Dallben about Taran; and was even considering asking him to allow Taran to join the guard of Caer Dathyl when he was a little older, so he could keep a close eye on him, and have a hand in his education. Dallben might have other plans, but the idea was worth considering.

One by one, the riders crossed in turn, except for Gurgi who leaped down from his pony to hold Hen Wen in her litter as she crossed. She squealed a bit nervously when she was struck by the force of the cold water, but she stayed securely in place on her litter, with Gurgi's gentle help. Finally, Gwydion followed suit with Melyngar. After he had crossed, for a moment they all stood together on the bank, streaming water and shivering in the shade of the trees. The sun was out and shining brightly however; and soon spirits rose again. Finally Taran let out an uncontainable whoop of joy and turned Melynlas southward toward home at a gallop. The others grinned and followed him, keeping pace as best they could with the swift stallion.

By early afternoon, the thatched roofs and whitewashed cottages of Caer Dallben were in sight. Low stone walls meandered through well-tended fields lined with green rows, and verdant trees with tiny red dots visible among the green even from this distance, filled the orchard.

Taran stayed in the lead, followed closely by Eilonwy, her colorful mane flying behind her like a banner as she cantered swiftly on her steed, and close after by Fflewddur, Doli and Gurgi. Soon they were in the midst of the buildings.

Gwydion stayed back, and watched with affection and amusement as Coll emerged from a doorway and roared his approval with enthusiasm, first hugging Taran as if he would squeeze the life out of him, and then introducing himself to Eilonwy next. Soon Coll had shaken hands and learned the names of the other companions, and he looked over to Gwydion, still in the saddle, with a grin and a wink, his bald pate glowing with what could only be boundless happiness and gratitude.

Dallben himself emerged from another cottage, and looked at Taran with the closest thing to joy and relief on his face that Gwydion had ever seen. He looked over to Gwydion with his own nod of gratitude, and Gwydion dismounted and bowed deeply to the old enchanter.

Gwydion knew him well, and had for many years. He respected him as much as High King Math himself, and both were invaluable counselors to him. In some ways, even more than his own High King and the cantrev kings of Prydain that owed him allegiance, Dallben was his most important ally. Dallben brought to the table not an army of men— with an often unwelcome and distracting basket of egos and political intrigue usually mixed in—but instead a cornucopia of pure wisdom and knowledge; insight where Gwydion's own sometimes failed; and practicality, unencumbered by personal ambition. Dallben had all he needed on this simple farm; he wanted no more, except—like Gwydion—to protect the land of Prydain and bring down its enemies.

Soon Dallben had settled his features down again into the placid and implacable mask that he normally showed to the world.

"Welcome All," the old enchanter said, "Please make yourselves at home, and help yourselves to what Coll has prepared for you."

Soon the whole entourage was feasting on the bounty of Coll's harvest, which was plentiful and delicious. Dallben himself sat at the head of the table, and Gwydion had never seen him as loquacious and approachable as he was for a few hours on this afternoon. With him such moods never lasted for long, however— and after a time he silently rose, and with a nod to his guests, headed back to his own chamber.


After some delightful discussion with Coll, Taran, Fflewddur and Eilonwy on the merits of the various representatives of Coll's vegetable crop, his roasted venison, the excellence of his bread, and the many wonderful qualities of his ale, Gwydion himself rose.

"I must see to Melyngar and my men, and I look forward to seeing you all again this evening," he said with a smile.

On the way to the stable he noticed Dallben's chamber lamp was out, and he assumed it was time for the enchanter's afternoon meditation. In the barn he did tend to his steed, giving her a much needed curry and a brush, cleaning her hooves from the dust, gravel and tar of the road, and offering soothing words that he saved only for her. The horse responded in her own way, her velvety nose, lips and breath often gently brushing his arms or the back of his neck as he tended to her.

After some time, he glanced over and noticed that Dallben's lamp was now lit, and he could see the old man hunched over his table, quill in hand. Observing that his soldiers were settled into their own camp at the edge of the field and enjoying Coll's culinary delights, which also included the delicious and potent brown ale, he turned and headed toward Dallben's chamber. He had much to discuss with him, and he strode over across the courtyard, as laughter from Fflewddur, Doli and Coll still wafted from the long room. He saw Taran and Eilonwy, walking hand in hand across the fields toward the apple orchard.

As he approached the door, it opened and Dallben appeared, saving him the trouble of knocking. The old man looked not at all surprised, as if Gwydion had arrived precisely at the appointed time. He motioned toward a comfortable chair that had been drawn up to the table; a wooden bench was pushed snugly under the window. Dallben settled himself on the other side of the table in a chair that looked accustomed to the enchanter's frame and weight. Between them was a smattering of oddments, scrolls, bits of weapons and armor, and one rather large tome in which Dallben had been writing, which Gwydion wisely avoided touching.

"And, erm," the enchanter began, clearing his throat, "The journey here… it was—?"

"Swift, and unhindered—as far as most of our company knows." Gwydion answered.

Dallben looked at him with probing eyes. "Of course it was," he agreed.

"…and for most it should stay that way."

Gwydion had no doubt that Dallben knew the details as well as he did himself, and probably many of them better. It always made him slightly uneasy, as something similar had happened on other occasions—Gwydion had made the trip to Caer Dallben many times. However, he knew enough not to let his uneasiness deter him from the conversation ahead. Words had to be spoken, and questions asked, even if many of the answers were already known.

Gwydion looked at the old man with his own direct and piercing gaze. "It is probably a pointless question, but did you know? Everything that would befall me, Taran and the others? Did you know Achren would capture us…and what would happen to me in Oeth-Anoeth? That Taran would be captured…and escape? Do you already know all that I came to tell you?"

Dallben glanced down at The Book of Three for an instant. "As you know, I have certain skills, and I have The Book of Three. Much is revealed to me…but generally not in great detail. I am not a god…" – and he looked at Gwydion pointedly— "…nor am I even remotely related to one. I may have a broad picture, but in the end we all must write our own stories.

"In your case, I knew that you would seek Hen Wen, that you would not find her, and that she would be lost for a time. Yes, I knew that your path would cross with that of Achren, and that you would suffer—but that you would probably survive. If you did, you would emerge with new knowledge and power that could be used against our enemies.

"Also perhaps, as improbable as it all seems, this was the only possible path that ended with the defeat of the Horned King, and Arawn…at least for now. If things had not happened just as they did, the Horned King would have been successful, Caer Dathyl would be destroyed, and Arawn would now rule Prydain."

The old man spread his hands on the book. "Of other details, some you already know. Taran had to be allowed to take the path he took—even though it put him at great risk. It took all my powers of persuasion to convince Coll not to go after him…and I even had a difficult time convincing myself. I am not quite the uncaring old fossil that I am often taken for.

"Beyond that, I am still very much in need of your knowledge. I have questions for you, as well as you for me."

"So ask them, and I will ask mine."

"Tell me about Oeth-Anoeth. How did you survive, when no one has before?"

Gwydion winced involuntarily, his mind flashing back to untold days of pure agony, before his countenance hardened. "I'm not quite sure. Perhaps I had help. Achren's mind and spirit—as much as she could leave of it—lives within those walls…to keep something away from Arawn. In her own way, she aided me."

Dallben looked at him knowingly. "She is not quite as unfeeling as her reputation, perhaps?"

Gwydion internally started at this, a bit uncomfortably. Did Dallben truly know everything about his past—even the mistakes he had made long ago, as a much younger man—before he had ever met Dallben? Was even this sorry history written in Dallben's mysterious tome?

He decided to just assume Dallben knew everything; it was usually the wisest course.

"Possibly. Primarily though, I believe she sees me as a weapon against Arawn—she holds more hatred for him than any of us. She may see the knowledge and insight I gained by surviving as an increase in the value of that weapon. I was on the brink of being broken, but the knowledge of her pain, how Arawn used her, denigrated her, tortured her…her pain distracted me from my own. I would even have aided her if I could…perhaps having some purpose in that blackness is how I survived. Then, suddenly, much was revealed to me. Light in the darkness, knowledge as infinite as the cosmos…and hope."

He looked again at Dallben, his green flecked eyes flashing both with inborn and newly discovered power.

"I saw Taran…and I saw Eilonwy. Perhaps as you have seen them…in the pages of The Book of Three."

Dallben glanced down at the enormous volume, where he was still resting his hands. "You already know that it may as well be called "The Book of If." So many things have to fall into place, so many dangers have to be faced…and then there is the question of their own free will. Nothing, not even The Book of Three, can understand everything that goes on in a young heart. These pages are constantly re-writing themselves…but yes, I have some knowledge, and hope—and that is what sustains me."

"There are perhaps things that you are not yet aware of," Gwydion said.

He reached in his jacket, and pulled from it a tile attached to a cord, and threw it on the table. It was partly stained with blood.

Dallben looked at the likeness painted upon it, and for a moment his face grew grimmer, and his translucent skin, barely stretched over the web of blue veins underneath, even paler.

"Only my trusted men, and Doli the Dwarf know of this, and they will not speak of it. Huntsmen of Annuvin, but clearly working in concert with Achren."

Dallben stood and paced for a moment around the untidy chamber, his old feet long accustomed to choosing a path free of the strange assortment of curiosities that both adorned and littered it.

"She is safe here for now, as you know," Dallben said. "She can grow in wisdom and knowledge, and enjoy being a young woman for a time. I can even help her understand and discover a bit more of her own heritage. However, she cannot hide here for long—she has too much of a part to play in the things to come."

Dallben's long bony fingers arched under his chin. "So Achren pursues Eilonwy again, and Arawn permitted her the use of his huntsmen. I have no doubt that she already knows Eilonwy is here. Although, she also knows she cannot touch Eilonwy while she is under my protection. So, she will bide her time, and devise her own schemes.

"I have a feeling however, that this may have been her last chance, and she has failed him again—as she did with the loss of the sword. Her star is on the wane, and I sense so are her powers. She may now be fleeing Arawn's wrath, and he is probably more concerned with exacting punishment on Achren than he is with Eilonwy."

"Probably, but Achren still must be located quickly," Gwydion said, and then smiled grimly. "Both because of the threat she poses to Eilonwy, but also possibly for her own protection, as strange as that seems."

"Very noble of you," Dallben replied with just a small trace of sarcasm, "and there may be other practical reasons to protect Achren as well. Don't forget that she knows Arawn better than anyone alive. If anyone could help in bringing about his defeat, it is Achren. Although I don't hold out much hope for that possibility."

"And as for Arawn," Gwydion said, "I don't know that he is terribly concerned about Eilonwy, there is no current reason for him to be. On the other hand, I feel that he is definitely aware of me— since the fall of the Horned King, if not from the day I walked away from Oeth-Anoeth."

"Don't be modest. He was well aware of you long before that…but he is now doubly so—from the day you destroyed his champion, and even more from the day you started carrying Dyrnwyn."

Gwydion glanced down at the sword that was now always girded to his side. Suddenly he stood, and drew it swiftly from its sheath. He felt its awesome power, the acrid smell of pure energy, and it glittered like a glorious white star in the early evening light. Gwydion's men across the way from the cottage, still enjoying Coll's ale, looked up in wonder at the beam of pure white light shining from the cottage window; although they were now familiar with the flame.

Gwydion laid the blade on the table; and to his surprise, Dallben stood, reached out his hand, grasped the hilt, and held it aloft. For a moment he was not an old man, and Gwydion could see him for what he truly was; a being of pure light, power and sheer force of will. Then he carefully laid the sword back down, and Gwydion picked up the sword and re-sheathed it. The room seemed empty and forlorn now, without the brilliance and splendor that had filled it.

"What do you know of the sword?" Dallben asked as he sat back down.

"Only what the Chief Bard Taliesin can tell me," Gwydion answered. "It is a weapon of great power and protection for Prydain, forged and tempered by Govannion the Lame long ago, at the request of King Rhydderch Hael. The flame is both a weapon and a safeguard—only the worthy can wield it, and the flame will destroy any other. Rhydderch's son King Rhych carried it after him, and then his grandson King Rhitta—who was lord of Spiral Castle before Achren.

"The legend is that he died with Dyrnwyn in his hands, in a manner unknown. Now, it is clear that it was buried with him in the secret chambers below the castle, until Eilonwy removed it."

"Interesting that the castle collapsed just after its removal," Dallben mused, "and perhaps not unrelated."

Gwydion nodded and went on. "The sword's rediscovery has woken a fear in Arawn—that I have felt. Beyond that, the ultimate purpose of Dyrnwyn is still unknown to Taliesin or any of our wisest."

"I have sensed Arawn's fear also," Dallben said. "He trembles at the thought that Dyrnwyn is again a force in the world. That fear may keep him at bay for a time, as he ponders and schemes and considers his next plan of action. Doubt always gnaws at him. He has lost his greatest War Leader, and that is due to you. He now fears a rediscovered weapon of great power, and through his servants that survived the battle, he knows that you carry it. If you were ever vigilant for your own safety, you must be doubly so now."

"You will also be interested to know that Oeth-Anoeth is no more. It melted away and fell, not long after your escape. The countless souls imprisoned there are free at last, thanks to you."

Gwydion briefly closed his eyes, remembering the tormented spirits that he had felt there, and how very nearly he had joined their ranks. Now at least, they were at rest.

"I was hoping you could tell me more of the history of the sword, and its purpose. Is it not part of the lore of The Book of Three?"

"Unfortunately—or perhaps by design—not much is revealed there," Dallben said with a sigh. "Something in the essence of Dyrnwyn, perhaps its own origin and power, blinds the book to it," Dallben said. "Now that I have held it, I am beginning to understand why. Just as The Book of Three is part of the most ancient enchantments of this land, so is Dyrnwyn. It is possible that the power of both is from much the same source."

Dallben paused a moment, and continued. "That source is also ultimately my own source of enchantment. As I held the sword, I imagined its creation…and felt some kinship with its creator, and even sorrow for him.

"If I poured every ounce of enchantment that I have ever possessed into an object, I might be able to create something close to Dyrnwyn. But even that would not be enough—there is even more power in its being...I do not yet understand the source, but it reminds me of the ancient enchantments of your own people. The combination is extremely powerful, and I can understand Arawn's fear."

Gwydion nodded. "I am not sure how all that is possible, but I have felt the same."

"Guard it well," Dallben said. "It may be a fulcrum around which everything pivots—all our hopes and plans."

Gwydion paused for a moment, and then said, "So again, concerning Eilonwy…how long do you think can she remain here?

"Oh, I think at least a couple of years, as she is still very young," Dallben replied thoughtfully. Then, I believe I shall be obliged to see more to her education as a young lady and a princess – and that should probably be with her last living relatives on Mona."

Gwydion quickly replied, "I hope you mean, only if Achren has been found by then."

"I do hope that is the case—and that she has also been rendered harmless," Dallben said, "but I can only keep her here for so long. After all, she is a princess and I would not want to get on the wrong side of her relatives…even those without magical powers.

"I do wonder how she stole the child from her mother…and what happened to Princess Angharad. The daughters of Llyr are not fools. Also, even with Llyr's destruction, Angharad could have been—or could still be, perhaps—a powerful ally. You knew her well yourself; I believe. Do you have any other insight into where she might have gone?"

Dallben looked at him pointedly again, and Gwydion inwardly squirmed. He was the High Prince of Prydain, a war leader for most of his life. He commanded respect from almost everyone he knew. Dallben respected him too, he was well aware—but also, could somehow make him feel like an awkward boy of fifteen.

"Yes, I did know her well…but no, I have no other insight into her disappearance. I do know she would never have rested until she found her child. Not unless she is dead."

Dallben pursed his lips, appeared ready to speak, and then was again silent for a moment before going on.

"In any case, Eilonwy, for now, is our responsibility. Her safety comes first of course, but her education is also critically important. Especially if things go…ahem…by the book.

"So Achren stole her once, and seeks to do so again," Dallben mused, as much to himself as to Gwydion, "and she does nothing without a reason, or a plan. I have no doubt that plan involves a way to gain some advantage from Eilonwy's heritage, as—possibly—the last enchantress of the House of Llyr."

The two men paused, and each considered his own thoughts for a few moments.

"So, what are your current plans? Dallben queried after a time. "Back to Caer Dathyl, or is there another urgent mission afoot?"

"I will return to Caer Dathyl, but only briefly, Gwydion replied. "I have heard rumors that men have been going missing, without explanation, in cantrevs and commots all over Prydain. I suspect Arawn's hand, but that needs to be confirmed. Whether it is his doing or not, it must be investigated."

"I had hoped you might stay a little longer," the old enchanter said, "and possibly we can speak further on these things," as he stood to stretch his thin, bony legs. Now, I believe I need to have a few words with Taran. He has learned much—and grown much— on this adventure I think, and I am looking forward to taking his measure."

Gwydion stood also, and for a moment the two clasped hands warmly. Many would see them as an odd pair, Gwydion thought. He, Prydain's premier war leader and also a crown prince, and an old man of enormous intellect and power that no one fully understood, not even he…but he had always trusted him instinctively, and had never seen a reason not to.

"I had hoped also to speak with you about Taran," Gwydion said. "I thought possibly he could return to Caer Dathyl soon, to serve as a page or within my guard…it would be as wise to see to his education as to that of the princess, would it not?"

"It would," Dallben said, "and I certainly appreciate your sentiments and generosity…but my own feeling is that it is not yet that time, and other even more practical means of education might present themselves in the coming years. Also, if he were to appear in your court…it could seem strange, an assistant pig-keeper moved to such a relatively lofty position. As illogical as it may seem, sometimes trying to make something happen that you desire is exactly the wrong way to go about it—and I sense that this may be one of those times."

"Very well, I would never gainsay your insight or your wisdom," Gwydion smiled, "and I will see now to my men. I do hope to enjoy another delicious meal with you this evening, but we will not tarry and will be off in the morning. I'm sure Taran will have much to tell you, and will be more than pleased that the princess will be staying for an extended visit in Caer Dallben."

"Yes, I'm sure he will be—and who can blame him," Dallben yawned, and then winked before he spoke once again.

"…But somehow I must convince him it was his idea."