Furious yells woke her. Eilonwy sat up, blinking, trying to make sense of the noise. A few feet away, Taran was sitting, looking as fuzzy-headed as she felt, while Doli, his face as red as his hair, shook a mass of broken sticks in his face.
"There you have it!" he roared. "I told you so! Don't say I didn't warn you. The treacherous creature's halfway to Annuvin by now, after listening to every word we said. If Arawn didn't know where we are, he'll know soon enough. You've done well; oh, very well." He threw the sticks to the ground in disgust, and Eilonwy realized, with a sickening twist of her gut, that they were the remains of the gwythaint's cage. "Spare me from fools and Assistant Pig-Keepers!" the dwarf shouted, and stumped off toward a log. He sank onto it in a despairing attitude, his head in his hands.
Eilonwy sucked in her breath, realizing the truth. He's frightened. Of course. No wonder he's so angry all the time. I should have seen it before. She was intimately familiar with the anger borne of fear. No wonder he was always trying to be invisible. All at once she felt terribly sorry for him.
Taran was picking up the shredded saplings in dismay, examining the ruin as though he couldn't quite believe it. No one said a word. Fflewddur, ashen-faced, rubbed his forehead. Gurgi stared, the whites of his eyes showing all around the amber irises. A whimper escaped his throat, and the sound seemed to break Taran out of a trance.
Like Doli, he threw the broken cage to the ground, with a cry of anger. "So once again I've done the wrong thing. As usual." He kicked the pile of sticks viciously, then sank to his knees, gripping his own head as though in pain. "Doli's right. There's no difference between a fool and an Assistant Pig-Keeper."
Eilonwy swallowed hard. She wanted to run over and drag him up, throw her arms around him and tell him he was wrong, that Doli was wrong, that saving the gwythaint had been the right thing to do no matter what happened next. But her feet wouldn't move. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry and Great Belin what good was it having words you couldn't say? Like treasure locked away and buried where it was no use to anyone?
She looked again at Doli, who was staring at the ground, and a little of her former irritation with him came back - not fury; she couldn't be furious with him anymore, but just enough comfortable, familiar annoyance to throw off whatever was holding her captive. She huffed a little.
"That may be true," she remarked. Taran looked up, miffed, but she preferred that to his melodrama. "But I can't stand people who say 'I told you so.' It's worse than somebody coming up and eating your supper before you have a chance to sit down."
She scrambled to her feet and approached Taran where he knelt, hesitated a moment, then dropped next to him. "He's not right," she whispered fiercely. "And you're not a fool. You needn't listen to him. He pretends to be disagreeable, but it's really that he's worried about us. He's prickly as a porcupine and just as ticklish once you turn him over. If he'd just -"
"It doesn't matter," Taran retorted, cutting her off. "It's not him I'm angry with."
"It's you," she said flatly. "I know. But you did the best you knew. And it won't help to fret about it."
"True enough," Fflewddur added. He had stood up and was tightening all his gear with a grimly determined air. "We've lost enough time over that bird. Let's not lose more now that it's gone. At the very least it's less dead weight."
Taran stood up, his shoulders still slumped, and nodded.
They continued on, Doli leading them at a merciless pace that kept them all working too hard to think. The very world around them grew as grey and foreboding as their moods; the sky was blotted out by a dark shroud of thick storm clouds, and cold winds gusted in their faces as they turned westward and began to descend out of the hills. Hen Wen and Melyngar both turned skittish and recalcitrant; they resisted being led, and flinched at every snapped twig and tumbled pebble.
During a halt in the early afternoon, Doli returned from a quick scouting trip looking ominous. He motioned them to follow, and led them to the crest of a hill, from which the Ystrad was visible below.
Eilonwy peered into the valley. It was black and writhing with what looked like a hundred thousand warriors, marching in a long, snakelike column. The din of their feet and weaponry set the whole earth shaking. At the head of the column, a giant, antlered figure rode a huge black horse.
So this was the Horned King, he of whom Taran had spoken with such dread. Even from a distance, the skull that covered his head gleamed, a fleck of ghoulish white against the darkness everywhere else. The antlers swiveled slowly as the figure turned its head, and next to her, Taran shrank against the ground, pale with terror. Eilonwy shuddered, fascinated and repulsed, frozen to the spot.
"They have overtaken us," Taran said, in a voice as thin as parchment.
Doli grunted. "Not if we get hustling instead of dawdling and moaning. We're no more than a day away from Caer Dathyl, and we can still move faster than that horde. If you hadn't stopped for that ungrateful spy of Annuvin, we'd be well ahead of them by now. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Eilonwy looked levelly at the dwarf, her suspicions of his true character growing stronger. For all his brash words, his face was paler than its wont, and he was hopping impatiently from one foot to the other in obvious anxiety.
They took a few minutes to distribute the weapons Melyngar carried, at Fflewddur's advice, in case of outriders. Eilonwy examined the quiver Taran passed to her. It was dwarf-sized, which was only slightly too small for her, and exquisite in workmanship, with strange, fantastic figures carved into the leather. The arrows were fletched in feathers so purple they were almost black, the color of no bird she knew. She buckled it on, and slung its partnered bow over her shoulder, with a fluttery, elated sense of anticipation that wasn't quite fear. At last, they were possibly going to do something besides run.
The feeling was obviously shared to some extent by her companions. Gurgi had slung a short sword about his waist, and now he shook the blade in one hairy fist. "Yes, yes! Now bold, valiant Gurgi is a mighty warrior, too! He has a grinding gasher and a pointed piercer! He is ready for great fightings and smitings!"
Fflewddur was brandishing a short spear. "And so am I! Nothing withstands the onslaught of an angry Fflam!"
She wanted to laugh at them both, struck by the silliness of their sudden posturing, but Doli was nearly apoplectic. "Stop jabbering and move!" he spluttered, crushing his cap in his hands.
They did, but at no pace that could satisfy the dwarf. Hen Wen was becoming more and more difficult, and it was all Taran could do to urge her along. After an hour of limited progress, they halted. Eilonwy busied herself readjusting her quiver straps, which were digging into her neck and tangling up with Dyrnwyn. Half-aware that Doli was complaining about the delay, she was presently jerked into full attention by a note of panic in Taran's voice.
"Hen? Hen!" He came running around the other side of Melyngar, looking frantic, and addressed her and Fflewddur. "Where did she go? Did anyone see her?"
Eilonwy and the bard exchanged helpless glances, and shook their heads. Taran whirled around with an anguished sound of alarm, and raced back to the trees they had just emerged from.
She sprang up to follow him, but Doli threw up a hand and snapped, "Don't. That's all we need, all of you panicking and running off like rabbits in every direction. If that pig wants finding he'll find her and if she doesn't he won't. We don't have time for a hunt."
"But," she began, and swallowed the rest painfully when Fflewddur shook his head at her, his face haggard.
"It's no good," he said, jerking his chin toward the trees. "Look."
Taran was running back toward them, white-faced, breathless, and shaking his head. "She's gone," he gasped, when he reached them. "She's hiding somewhere, I know it." Spent, he sank to the ground, his head in his hands, and groaned. "I shouldn't have let her out of my sight, not even for a moment. I have failed twice."
It made her want to burst into tears, to roar her anger at the sky at the unfairness of it all. Not after all this, not now. They were too close to roll over and accept defeat. Eilonwy crouched over Taran, grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. "Come on. We'll find her. Let the others go on. We'll catch up to them and-"
She froze, mute. A sound like nothing she had ever heard - clearer than a bell, loud as thunder, a mournful wail like the voices of a thousand ghosts - cut across her words, crushed them into silence. If dread could fall like rain, it would feel like this; a drenching, suffocating deluge of pure despair that drowned them all. Taran's hands fell from his face and landed limply in his lap. His eyes were vacant with dull, paralyzed horror.
The sound came again, accompanied by a distant baying of hounds, and Eilonwy searched the faces of their companions for comfort. None came. Gurgi flattened himself against the ground, his ragged ears tight against his skull. Doli's face was drained of color. Fflewddur gazed up at the dark, flickering sky with an expression she had seen on the faces of men heading to Achren's executioner.
"Where Gwyn the Hunter rides," he whispered, "death rides close behind."
In later days, when Eilonwy remembered it afterwards, it always seemed as though the next few moments took a very, very long time, stretched thin like threads in a too-tight garment, pulled nearly to the breaking point. Somewhere behind or within the wailing of the horn, she heard her own heartbeat, impossibly slow, and thought, with a listless sort of detachment, that if it got any slower it would stop altogether. Which was what happened eventually anyway, after all, so what did a few years' difference make? End later or end now, it made no difference; and what was the point in fighting? Because everything was ending, fading away into dark emptiness...
Before the last echoes had stopped ringing from the hills, the thunder of galloping hoofs shook her out of her trance with a jolt; she whirled to see four riders headed toward them from the top of a ridge, lances at the ready, and found she wanted very, very much not to end after all.
Fflewddur shouted an alarm. "Scouts! They've seen us!"
Well beyond the cover of the trees, they all knew that running was useless. Taran drew his sword, but it was Fflewddur who leapt out before them all, motioning with his long arms for them to band together behind him. He ordered bows at the ready, his voice ringing clear and commanding, compelling instantaneous response.
"Shoulder to shoulder! Now kneel!" The bard's face was flushed, almost exultant as he took his place at the end of their meager line and unslung his own bow. "I haven't had a good fight in years! It's one of the things I miss, being a bard. They'll see what it means to attack a Fflam!"
It was strange and unreal, Eilonwy thought, seeing one's potential death bearing down. Fflewddur's excitement wasn't contagious exactly, but it did reduce the sick feeling in her stomach to a mere flutter. Moving automatically in response to his commands, her hands were steady and smooth as she knocked an arrow to the bowstring, thankful that this skill, at least, was something Achren had thought fit for her to learn.
The hoofbeats shook the ground. She could see the bared teeth of the lead horseman, the white ring around the eye of his mount. Her arrow shaft made a straight line that ended at the warrior's throat.
"Loose!" Fflewddur bellowed, and the arrows flew. Eilonwy growled; she'd forgotten the wind, and the shot was wasted. Next to her Taran uttered an angry exclamation and fired another arrow, which also veered off course. But one of the riders fell, and at the end of the line, Gurgi gave a triumphant howl.
"Well done!" the bard whooped. "They know we can sting! Loose again!"
More arrows flew, but the band was too close for a volley now; the three remaining warriors split to surround them and Fflewddur shouted, "Now, friends, back to back!"
They scrambled to their feet as the horsemen circled. Eilonwy reached for another arrow, scraped her knuckles against Dyrnwyn's pommel, and angrily hissed a few choice words between her teeth. They twisted in the air, shrill and hot, and before she even realized what she'd said, the warrior nearest her swayed clumsily in his seat, raising his shield as though defending from some invisible attacker. In the process he exposed his side, and Doli, with a grunt, buried an arrow in his neck.
She watched in astonishment as the man fell, his shield rolling like a cartwheel toward her feet. There were scorch marks upon it. Good. At least she'd retained something, though she wasn't exactly sure what she'd done or if she could do it again; the residual taste of the words made her want to retch, and for a moment the world swam dizzyingly in front of her eyes.
The two remaining warriors had wheeled their horses and were galloping away when she looked up. "We've beaten them!" she gasped. "That's like bees driving away eagles!"
Fflewddur was hastily slinging his bow away and shouldering his harp. "They'll spend no more men on us," he warned. "When they come back they'll bring a war band. That's highly complimentary to our bravery, but I don't think we should wait for them. A Fflam knows when to fight and when to run. At this point, we'd better run, and fast."
"I won't leave Hen Wen," Taran insisted.
Doli looked at him in fury. "Are you still on about that? After all this? Go looking for her and you'll lose your head as well as your pig."
Gurgi, still exuberant over his lucky shot, gamboled in a circle. "Crafty Gurgi will go with bold seekings and peekings!" He started to move toward the trees, but Fflewddur called him back.
"In all likelihood they'll attack us again," the bard said, for the first time with a hint of impatience. "We can't afford to lose what little strength we have. A Fflam never worries about being outnumbered, but one sword less could be fatal."
The boy took one more anxious glance toward the woods, uncertain. "Taran." Fflewddur's voice was so sharp they all snapped to attention. "She can look after herself. Wherever she may be, she's in less danger than we are."
Taran bit his lower lip and nodded. "I...all right. It's just...it grieves me to lose her for the second time!" he burst out. "I had to give her up to go to Caer Dathyl, but then with Gurgi finding her, I...I hoped to accomplish both tasks. But I see it must be one or the other."
"The question now is whether there is any chance of warning the Sons of Don before the attack," said Fflewddur, turning to their guide. "Doli?"
The dwarf scowled. "Possible. But we'll have to go into the valley, right in the middle of the Horned King's vanguard."
They all looked at one another silently. Eilonwy felt her mouth going dry. But it had to be done. If they couldn't make it to Caer Dathyl, where would they go? They might as well find a nice charming burial spot in the woods and wait for the guards to come back.
"Can we get through?" Taran asked finally, his voice wavering a little.
Doli grunted. "Won't know until you've tried."
They all looked at Taran, who stared at the ground as if he wished to read the future there. "The decision is yours," Fflewddur said. The boy looked up, his mouth tightening, eyes burning.
"We shall try."