Chapter Four

The stablehands were nowhere to be seen...drunk in the cellars, if experience was anything to go by.

There were only a handful of horses kept at Spiral Castle; Achren did not enjoy riding and did not often travel far enough to need her own mount, so most of the beasts were of the sturdy, reliable type used for packing. Eilonwy was not fond of them; they were an ill-tempered collection of nags, sour from hard use and no affection. Now they were all facing away from the pen at the end of the rows, their ears flattened against their heads as they pretended to ignore the indignant squeals of the creature shut in there.

Eilonwy crept down the center row, flicking the nose of one old gelding who snapped at her as she passed. The restless drum of hoofs scraping wood filled the stable, interspersed with the snorting of their owner. A large white head appeared over the doorway of the last pen, rolled its eyes, whinnied angrily, and then disappeared again.

She held her breath as she approached. The horse was aware of her; it backed to the opposite wall, tossed its head, and glared at her, blowing through flared nostrils.

She rested her chin on the edge of the door, marveling at the magnificent animal. She'd never seen such a beast, except recorded in silk thread on tapestries that hung inside the castle. It was large and powerfully built, but sleek, with a fine-boned broad forehead that sloped to a delicate muzzle, and an arched, elegant neck crowned with a pale gold mane. It held its long tail high like a banner and worried the ground with a slim, muscled leg.

"You must be Melyngar." The pointed ears pricked in her direction. "You're much too beautiful for this place," Eilonwy observed. "Like a rainbow down a rat-hole. I've come to get you out, but you'll have to stop that racket." She crept a hand through the bars of the door. "Shall we be friends?"

Melyngar bobbed her head and blew loudly, then froze like a statue for several long moments, the heaving of her round ribcage the only sign of life. Eilonwy, waiting likewise still, felt the horse's tension like a weight, a beam delicately balanced, about to be tipped.

"Please," she breathed, in a whisper. There was a movement, a brush as of a silk strand sliding across her mind. Melyngar whickered softly and took a step, stretching her neck across the empty space toward the girl's outstretched hand. Velvet nostrils puckered in her palm, warm and tickling.

"That's better. You're certainly more sensible than that assistant pig-keeper." The horse whickered again as she unbolted the stable door and slid inside. Melyngar took another step and pushed her nose into the girl's chest; she slid her hand up the smooth-furred nasal ridge of the big head gently. Oh, why couldn't they have horses like this?

The white flanks were streaked with mud and rust-colored stains. Eilonwy frowned at them. "You've had a difficult day." She collected saddle and bridle from the disrespectful heap in the corner they'd been left in, and Melyngar stood still and docile while she fastened them. The horse's ears flicked back in mild reproach at her clumsy handling of the bit in the soft mouth, and Eilonwy sighed. "I suppose you can tell I've not done much of this. But I hope you'll forgive it."

The saddlebags had been rifled through but still appeared to contain some provisions of the type travelers carried. It would have to do; the kitchen would be too busy at this hour to make theft possible. She gathered up Melyngar's reins and led her out of the pen and through the rear door of the stable.

There were two guards at the front gate, and though she knew the goose-down, iron-edged words that would allow her to slip by them while they stared at the stones underfoot, she wasn't sure whether the protection afforded would be enough for the horse as well. Better to use the back gate, which could be unbolted without noise, and whose single guard was usually asleep. She held her breath at the clatter of the iron-shod hoofs on cobblestone, but in moments she and the horse were safely outside the wall, close to where she had left that Fflam fellow.

She was still annoyed with him. He had seemed so agreeable, the first man she'd ever laid eyes on whose gaze didn't make her want to shrink small into some dark corner, so well-mannered and pleasant...and then to go and try to abandon the friend who'd stayed behind for his sake! Perhaps Achren was right after all. Perhaps you really couldn't trust any of them no matter how nice they seemed. But in any case she wouldn't let it happen if she could help it. If he'd gone off through the woods while she was getting the horse, she'd track him down and let him know exactly what she thought of him. Well, after retrieving Taran, that is.

Llyr, but the whole business was getting complicated. She was beginning to wonder if she'd be able to get back to her cell before Achren came for her, and although the thought of Achren's face at finding her cell empty had its attractions, she was not eager for her secrets to be discovered. It would leave no doubt as to who had carried out the escape of prisoners under Achren's very nose, for one thing. No, she must be quick in getting Taran out, and then be back inside her cell as soon as possible. The thought made her break into a run as she neared the woods, Melyngar trotting beside her.

Fflewddur Fflam was still there, sitting against a tree wrapped in his cloak. He rose as she approached, gaping at the horse as though he'd never seen one before; she ignored his dumbfounded expression and pressed the reins into his hand. "Now," she panted. "I'm just going back for Taran, and I shall be as quick as I can. It won't be much longer, and then you can all be on your way. Whatever way that is." Giving him no chance to reply, she spun, and ran back up the slope to the patch of scrubby trees that hid the tunnel mouth.

The tense, prickly sensation that had hung over the place all day now felt positively thick; she almost felt a need to push the air out of the way as she slid back into the bowels of the castle. It was expectant, waiting, and played no tricks this time, but she felt as though there were eyes watching from every shadow, a will somewhere beyond the stone that knew, somehow, what the small beings scuttling about like ants in its innards were up to. She told herself not to be silly, but the feeling persisted.

It made her feel intensely discontent all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the realization that once she released Taran the whole adventure would be over, and tomorrow would be life as usual, back to books and magic lessons and monotony; back to navigating the malicious shadows and pressing watchfulness that made up her world. And Achren, always Achren - criticizing, commanding, threatening, depriving, punishing until Eilonwy thought she would go mad, possessed with an overwhelming desire to destroy, stop, just stop her, or at least to mar that flawless face, rend it beyond recognition. She had, with every ounce of her strength, hurled sharp or heavy objects at the queen more than once in a rage, but Achren always flicked them out of their trajectory with a graceful motion of her slim, sinuous hand, a mocking smile on her face as though it was barely worth the effort. She almost seemed to enjoy it - though that never stopped her from administering chastisement afterward.

Oh, how she hated Achren. Hated her with every breath and every heartbeat. Somehow it was worse, now - after only a scarce few minutes speaking to two strangers who didn't frighten her, who seemed glad, if shocked, to meet her and spoke to her kindly - well, mostly. Now that she knew such people existed, how could she go back to Achren's wretched company with no hope of ever seeing them again?

She wished she could trade places with the assistant pig-keeper and his friend. Whatever his mission was, wherever he and that Fflewddur were going, it had to be better than living with Achren. Perhaps...

She froze as the thought struck her in a heart-stopping, breathless moment, holding herself up with a hand on each side of the tunnel. Perhaps she could go with them.

She had often dreamed of running away. But it had never been more than a dream, a mad fancy that she could escape with a passing rover camp or run off and live in a hollow tree eating roots and berries until Achren tired of looking for her. Even after she had outgrown Achren's livid tales of the horrible creatures that roamed the woods and devoured children, she was too aware of the size of the forest and of her own ignorance of surviving in it to make a serious attempt. If she had any clear idea of the best direction to travel she would risk it, but as it was she'd wander aimless, and even carefully rationed provisions would not last forever. Living here was terrible but at least it was living, not starving to death lost and cold in the woods.

But Fflewddur Fflam said he wandered. He must know how to forage and make his own shelter, and at the very least would know the lay of the land, and perhaps the nearest place where decent people lived, who might be willing to take her on. She had no useful skills but magic, but...well, she could worry later about how to support herself. The main thing was getting out of the castle and through the woods in safety. And though the boy and his lanky companion seemed like a bumbling pair of fools, they did have a horse at least, and she might never get a better chance.

Her heart was hammering as she began moving again, excitement building in her like a bonfire, then realized she was at the crawling portion of the tunnel again. She threw herself down with a grunt. No matter. If she had her way she'd never have to do this again, ever. It was an ecstatic thought.

Suppose they refused. She sniffed at the thought. They couldn't refuse; not after she'd gone to all this trouble. She was saving their lives, and that counted for a great deal. They could argue if they wanted, but nobody could stop her.

Farewell, Spiral Castle, she thought gleefully, elbowing her way through the tunnel.

And farewell, Achren.