The ground was growing more rocky as the companions traversed the foothills of the Eagle Mountains. All the mounts were surefooted beasts, but even Melynwyn picked her way along the path carefully, her ears swishing back and forth, listening to Rhys' gentle encouragement. He twisted in the saddle, watching Gareth, Owain, and Iola navigate the tougher terrain with their beasts. Matilda, who was seated behind Iola on Melynlas, gazed up into the canopy of leaves and blue sky above them.

They reached a copse of pines after steep rise, where they were looking down into a wide, green valley. If Rhys squinted, he could almost make out the dark shape of Caer Dathyl. The prince breathed in the fresh air and was slow to exhale. He had been unsuccessfully trying to loosen a tight knot in his chest ever since Matilda and Iola had been found tramping through the forest.

He turned back once more to glance at Iola, who shot him an annoyed look. Rhys turned away, feeling a little vexed. He knew that his mother, the High Queen, would be fretting over the princess. With this weighing on his mind, Rhys had been keeping a close eye on Iola, and though she kept up a bright facade, he'd noticed she had grown more pale as the day waned on.

'We will rest here,' he said. There were appreciative murmurs from the company as everyone halted.

Hitching Melynwyn's reins to an obliging branch, Rhys walked over to Matilda.

'May I see the map?' he asked, drawing her away from the rest of the companions.

'Of course,' she said, lifting the chain up from around her head.

He took it from her. 'Do you think Iola is well enough to continue?'

Matilda put a finger to her lips, considering. She looked down, seemingly torn between loyalty to her friend and the reality of the situation. 'No,' she eventually whispered. 'She's been coughing this whole time. I am afraid she's caught something.'

Rhys' stomach clenched. 'Right. It's no longer safe for her here, we'll need to bring her home.'

Matilda's brown eyes widened and she pointed at the pendant. 'Look!' she said, loud enough that the rest of the companions also turned their heads.

The red ruby was glowing brighter than it ever had, a clean arrow of light was pointing due west, in the direction of Caer Dathyl.

'How did you make that work?' cried Owain.

'I…' Rhys started.

He couldn't finish. There was the sound of branches breaking and horses whinnying. Rhys drew his blade, pulling Matilda's hand so she ducked behind him. He tossed her the pendant and she placed it around her neck, tucking it into her tunic.

'Hold, hold,' a red-bearded man said. He'd also drawn his sword. 'There doesn't need to be any bloodshed.'

'State your name,' Rhys called, taking a few steps toward him. Gareth also had his blade at the ready.

The man smiled, his face was heavily lined; a purplish scar cut through one eyebrow and crow's feet scored the corners of his eyes. 'Alaric,' he answered. 'From the realms east of Prydain.'

He then bowed, a sweeping gesture that fanned pine needles around him.

'Thank you for the obeisance,' Rhys said. 'And now that you've-'

Alaric laughed heartily. 'I will never bow to any Prydain princeling.' He pointed a finger just over Rhys' shoulder. 'That there is my true princess.'

Rhys heard Matilda's sharp intake of breath. The man said something in her own language, which Rhys couldn't understand. It was then he noticed two other cloaked figures flanking them.

'Is it three in total?' Rhys asked Gareth, having a care to speak under his breath.

'Looks like it,' the guardsman replied. Gareth was always remarkably relaxed in the heat of combat. Rhys borrowed some of his confidence.

'No need for that,' Alaric said, his gruff, accented voice had something of humour in it. He took a few more steps forward until his red beard was nearly brushing the tip of Rhys's sword. 'I've sent for my master and he'll be here any second now, with a retinue of twenty soldiers. All we want is the map… and since I stumbled upon our princess, I'll bring her with me as well.'

Rhys' grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. He dug his heels into the earth. 'No one is going anywhere with you.'

'Shame,' Alaric said.

The two soldiers flanking the companions closed in on them. The loud metal clangs of blade hitting blade echoed off the trees as Rhys parried the hacking blows from the enemy solider.

'Get on the horses!' he shouted.

There was the thundering of more hooves from beneath the rise. Rhys' heart pounded as he staved off blow after blow. His opponent was strong, but he fought like a butcher. Rhys dodged him easily.

'More are coming!' warned Owain.

Thrusting his sword forward, Rhys managed to push his opponent to the ground. Gareth, who had been fighting off both Alaric and another solider, tripped the solider up.

Rhys bowled into Alaric, pressing his shoulder into the man's ribcage. He howled as Rhys felt a few bones snap under the pressure.

He shouted something in his own language, and Rhys saw horses galloping up the rise.

'Ride, Rhys!' One of the girls yelled. Melynwyn had broken free from her tether. Grabbing the mare's silvery mane, he hauled himself into the saddle, narrowly avoiding the slash of a sword. Kicking the mare on Rhys blindly ran her down the slope and into the woods, praying his mount would find her way through the thorny, rocky brush.

Turning around, he saw Gareth hoisting himself up on his own roan gelding, his hound braking furiously. The forest was being swarmed by soldiers, all dressed in dark armour.

'Come on!' Owain shouted.

Where? Rhys wanted to cry, but he gave Melynwyn her head, blindly following Melynlas. If there was anyone who knew the way to safety, it would have been his father's stallion.

Rhys dared not look behind him, but he knew the enemy soldiers were close. He could hear the pounding of their horses' hooves, their shouts as they weaved their way through the pines.

Rhys' heartbeat roared in his ears. He forced himself to concentrate on Owain's bay and Melynlas.

The stallion, having navigated a particularly dense stretch of pine forest, seemed to be galloping in the direction of a dark hood of trees. As they veered closer, Rhys fought the urge to rein up his mare. The trees and underbrush formed almost a tunnel, with a black, gaping maw.

Stop! He wanted to yell. The horses will shy away!

'Keep riding!' Gareth was breathless behind him. 'Don't slow down!'

Gritting his teeth, he shut his eyes, squeezing Melynwyn's sides with his calves.


Melynlas came to such a startling halt that Matilda slid off his back, landing hard on the packed earth.

'Oh! Are you alright?' Iola asked.

For a moment Matilda couldn't see the Princess. The lighting was dim and her eyes were adjusting. Then, as if waking from a dream, she started to pick out a ceiling made of twigs and mud.

'A rabbit warren?' she murmured to herself. It seemed to be the only explanation.

Iola pulled her out of the way as more horses screamed into the hovel. 'Is everyone here?'

Rhys' voice was frantic. Reaching out in the semi-darkness his callused hand met Matilda's cheek. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the dimness, a cut above his eye bled down his temple.

'I am well,' Matilda answered, pushing his hand off. 'Iola?' she asked.

'Just…' she wheezed for moment, 'catching my breath.'

'Slowly princess,' Gareth's calm manner was a balm to all of them. 'Nice, even breaths.'

'And I'm alright too,' Owain said, 'not that anyone cares.'

Rhys quickly pulled his younger brother into a tight embrace. 'You were quick thinking, getting the horses off their hitching lines.'

Owain pulled away, but not before Rhys ruffled his hair. Iola's breathing was slowing coming back to normal. The five of them paused, waiting to see if any of the enemy soldiers would be joining them. Matilda's heart was beating so loudly she wondered if any of her companions could hear it.

There was a collective exhale as they slowly realized they were safe.

'Tilly, what were those men saying?' Owain asked. His voice bore no ill will, but Matilda's face burned when she remembered the red-bearded man bowing before her.

'They were saying that you were untying the mounts and to attack.' The bald-faced lie came so easily to her she was shocked at herself.

Rhys and Iola both studied her; Iola seemed rather concerned where Rhys' look was more difficult to read. She had a thought that perhaps he didn't trust her.

'Where do you think we are?' Iola asked, breaking the tension.

'It looks like a den of some kind.' Owain pulled a twig off the wall and examined it.

Gareth, reaching into his rucksack, produced a torch. After a few tries, he was able to get a flint to light, illuminating the hovel. Matilda squinted her eyes against the bright light.

'There's no door,' Owain said, running his hand along the far side of the structure. 'Didn't we come in this way?'

'I'm all turned around myself,' Rhys said. 'It's not as though a door would open and then close itself.'

'What does the map say?' Gareth suggested, eyeing Matilda.

Taking out the pendant, each of the companions passed it around, but it did not light for any of them.

'Strange,' muttered Rhys.

'I have had enough strange for a lifetime,' Matilda sighed, dropping down to the packed earthen floor.

'We should move,' Rhys said, stepping over her feet. She was still wearing the leather slippers from the festival at Caesar Dathyl. How long ago that now seemed.

At Rhys' suggestion, Matilda looked down a long, black tunnel at the opposite end of the den. Her stomach twisted with nerves. 'And where would you say that leads?'

Gareth ventured forward. Gelert, ears pricked, sniffed around the edge. He let out one loud, joyous bark.

'The hound doesn't seem too worried.' Owain had come to stand beside his brother. In the half-light they looked strikingly similar, though Rhys was still a head taller than his younger brother.

'Perhaps we should rest,' Matilda said. She glanced at Iola, whose breathing had finally returned to normal, though her face was still pale. She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her tunic.

Rhys shook his head. 'We don't know who built this, or who might be coming back to it later. No, it's better to press on.'

'That tunnel could very well bring us somewhere we don't want to be!' Matilda protested. 'What if we end up on the other side of Prydain?'

'Then we'll ride home, presumably.' Owain laughed a little at the suggestion.

Matilda resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. Iola, sensing it, reached out a hand to soothe her friend. 'It will be alright, Tilly,' she said in a low voice.

At that, Rhys drew his sword once more. The hiss of metal against the leather sheath set Matilda's teeth on edge. Gareth, holding the torch, lit the way.

At first, the tunnel seemed blacker than pitch. Matilda held both hands up in front of her, nearly tripling on the uneven ground. After a few moments, a wan light appeared at the end.

The tunnel grew smaller and smaller as the grey light burned brighter. Matilda had to bend her knees to fit for the last few steps.

'I'll go first,' Rhys said, ducking out of the tunnel.

The companions followed suit, Gareth and Gelert waiting behind. The guardsman crouched, trying not to light the tunnel aflame.

'After you, Princess,' he said with a reassuring smile.

Holding her breath, Matilda squeezed through the small opening. She felt a hand clasp hers to help her up. When she looked around, she was surprised to find that they were surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a busy market. They had come up in the middle of it. Though she thought the tunnel had been straight, it had actually been moving them towards; they had come up through a makeshift sewer grate.

For a moment she thought they might have been in the keep at Caer Dathyl. Then, the strangeness set in. Matilda first noticed the light, which should have been bright afternoon sunlight. Instead it appeared to be dusk or twilight. The market was dark enough to require lamps and flaming torches. Then there was the fact that the market was beset by children.

No… she thought, her eyes adjusting. Those aren't people, they're little men… and women!

None of the patrons seemed very concerned with the companions, not even with Gelert, who was barking loudly. Instead they were all absorbed into the liveliness around the market stalls. Not every strange being around them was stout and bearded; there were old crones in long cloaks, a few men with long beards, there were shaggy beasts walking on hind legs, and Matilda spotted a great toad that seemed to be playing an instrument with its long tongue.

'I am dreaming,' she said aloud.

'Hello wanderers,' an older woman greeted the group. She wore a long shimmering cloak and carried a gnarled staff. Atop it was perched a bald-headed vulture with yellow eyes. Gelert barked.

'No indeed!' she addressed the dog. 'You couldn't be lost if you've found your way here!'

'And where is here?' Iola asked, the only one of the companions not struck speechless.

'Why, my pretty darling, you're at the Night Market!'