The High King (Chronicles of Prydain (Henry Holt and Company))

by Lloyd Alexander

  Biting, kicking, and scratching, Eilonwy struggled vainly to free herself from the burly man who had seized her. Another had flung Gurgi to the ground and, with dagger drawn, set his knee in the small of the hapless creature’s back. In a trice the two companions were bound hand and foot and hoisted like mealsacks on their assailant’s shoulders. Eilonwy had no idea of the direction in which she was being carried, but in a little while she glimpsed a campfire flickering through the gathering dusk and hunched around it a ruffianly band of a dozen or more.

  The man squatting nearest the fire looked up. Garbed in dirty sheepskins and a rough cloak, he was heavy-faced and stubble-bearded, his long hair yellowish and tangled.

  “I sent you for game, not prisoners,” he called out hoarsely. “What have you found?”

  “Lean pickings,” answered Eilonwy’s captor, dropping his furious burden to the turf beside Gurgi. “A brace of churls, for what they may be worth.”

  “Nothing, very likely.” The heavy-faced man spat in the fire. “You should have slit their gullets and spared yourself the burden.” He climbed to his feet and strode to the companions. With a grimy, broken-nailed hand he seized Eilonwy by the throat as if he meant to throttle her. “Who are you, boy?” he demanded in a grating voice. His cold blue eyes narrowed. “Who do you serve? What ransom will you bring? Answer quickly when Dorath asks a question.”

  At the sound of the name Eilonwy caught her breath. Taran had spoken of Dorath. From Gurgi’s terrified whimpering she judged he, too, had recognized the outlaw.

  “Answer!” Dorath cried with a curse. He struck Eilonwy across the face. The girl stumbled and fell, her head singing from the blow. The golden sphere dropped from her jacket. Eilonwy strained at her bonds and tried to fling herself on top of the bauble. A booted foot kicked it from her. Dorath bent and snatched up the sphere, turning it curiously in the firelight.

  “What is it?” questioned one of the ruffians, pressing closer to gape at the bauble.

  “Gold it is,” said another. “Come, Dorath, chop the thing apart and share it out.”

  “Hands off, you swine,” Dorath growled. He thrust the bauble into his sheepskin. Mutters of protest rose from the band, but Dorath silenced them with a glance. He bent down to Eilonwy. “Where did you steal such a trinket, you young thief? Will you keep your head on your shoulders? Then tell me where we can find more treasure like this.”

  Eilonwy, though furious, kept silent.

  Dorath grinned. “You will speak soon enough,” he said, “and only wish you had spoken earlier. First, let me see if your fellow has a tongue looser than yours.”

  Gurgi, teeth chattering violently, had sunk his head deep into his sheepskin coat and tightly hunched his shoulders.

  “Do you play turtle with me?” Dorath cried with a harsh laugh. He knotted his thick fingers in Gurgi’s hair and jerked the creature’s head upright. “Small wonder you hide your face! It’s ugly as ever I’ve seen!”

  Dorath stopped suddenly and squinted closer. “Ugly it is, and not one easily forgotten. So ho! We are old friends, you and I. You share my hospitality once more! When last we met, you were comrade to a pig-keeper.” He turned his glance on Eilonwy. “But this is not the swineherd.”

  Dorath gripped Eilonwy’s face and roughly turned it from side to side. “This beardless boy …” He grunted in surprise. “What, then? Boy? No boy at all! A wench!”

  Eilonwy could no longer contain herself. “Wench indeed! I’m Eilonwy Daughter of Angharad Daughter of Regat Princess of Llyr. I don’t like being tied up, I don’t like being smacked. I don’t like being pawed, and I’ll thank you to stop doing all of that immediately!” Despite her bonds she kicked vigorously at the outlaw.

  Dorath laughed and drew back a pace. “My memory is that the Lord Swineherd spoke once of you.” He gave a mocking bow. “Welcome Princess Vixen. You are a choicer prize than any ransom. A long score lies between Dorath and your pig-keeper. You give me and my company the pleasure of settling a little of it.”

  “I’ll give you the pleasure of setting Gurgi and me loose this very instant,” Eilonwy flung at him. “And I shall have my bauble again.”

  Dorath’s face had grown mottled. “You shall go free,” he said between his teeth, “after a time, my pretty Princess, after a time. When you shall be fitting company for pig-keepers, perhaps you may join the swineherd again. Perhaps he will even recognize your charms, whatever may be left of them.”

  “Have you considered what will be left of you when Taran finds you?” Eilonwy retorted. Until now the Princess of Llyr had kept her self-possession. But she could sense the outlaw’s thoughts behind his cold eyes and for the first time she was deeply afraid.

  “Lord Swineherd and I will finish our reckoning when the time comes,” Dorath replied. Grinning, he bent toward her. “But your time is now.”

  Gurgi thrashed wildly in his bonds. “Do not harm wise and kindly Princess!” he shouted. “Oh, Gurgi will make you pay for hurtful wickedness!” He flung himself against Dorath and tried to sink his teeth into the outlaw’s leg.

  Cursing, Dorath turned on Gurgi and snatched out his sword. Eilonwy cried aloud.

  But before the outlaw could begin his downward stroke a long shape sprang suddenly from the overhanging rocks. Dorath gave a stifled shout. His weapon fell from his hand and he toppled backward, the furry shadow snarling and tearing at his throat. At the campfire the other outlaws leaped to their feet and screamed in terror. Gray shadows were all about, closing swiftly on them. Vainly the marauders sought to flee, but on all sides they were flung back, borne to the ground by the force of lean bodies and slashing fangs.

  Gurgi began yelling fearfully. “Help, oh help! Oh, evil spirits come to slay us all!”

  Eilonwy forced herself upright. Behind her she could feel something sharp gnawing and worrying at her bonds. In another moment her hands were free. She stumbled forward while the gray shadow tore away the thongs holding her feet. In front of her lay the motionless body of Dorath. Quickly Eilonwy knelt and drew the bauble from the outlaw’s sheepskin jacket. From her cupped hand the sphere shed golden rays on a huge wolf crouching before her. By the campfire she glimpsed other wolves, withdrawing as swiftly as they had come. Behind them, all was silent. Eilonwy shuddered and looked away. The wolves had done their work well.

  Gurgi had been freed by a gray she-wolf with a white blaze on her breast and, pleased though he was to be out of the warriors’ clutches, he wrinkled his forehead and cast a distrustful glance at his rescuer. The wolf Briavael blinked her yellow eyes and grinned at him. Gurgi, nevertheless, chose to keep his distance.

  For her own part, Eilonwy surprisingly felt no fear or uneasiness. The wolf Brynach sat on his haunches, watching her closely. Eilonwy put her hand on the animal’s shaggy, muscular neck.

  “I hope you know we’re trying to thank you,” she said, “though I’m not sure whether you understand or not. The only wolves I ever met personally lived far from here in Medwyn’s valley.”

  At this Brynach whined and wagged his tail.

  “Well, you do understand that,” said Eilonwy. “Medwyn …” She hesitated. “There were two wolves …” She clapped her hands. “It must be! I don’t mean to say I can tell one wolf from another, at least not at first glance. But there’s something about you that reminds me … In any case, if that’s who you are, we’re very glad to see you again. We’re obliged to you and now we’ll be on our way. Though I’m not exactly sure which way our way is, if you see what I mean.”

  Brynach grinned and showed no sign of leaving. Instead, he remained on his haunches, opened his jaws, and gave a high-pitched bark.

  Eilonwy sighed and shook her head. “We’re lost and trying to find our companions, but I haven’t any idea how to say Assistant Pig-Keeper in wolf speech.”

  Gurgi, meantime, had picked up his wallet of food and slung it over his shoulder. At last seeing the wolves meant him no harm, he drew a little closer to Brynach and Briavael and look
ed at them with great interest, while they studied him no less curiously.

  Eilonwy turned to Gurgi. “I’m sure they’re willing to help us. Oh, if I could only understand them! What good is it being half an enchantress if you can’t even tell what a wolf is trying to say to you?” Eilonwy stopped short. “But—but I think I did understand! I must have! There, one of them just said ‘Tell us!’ I could hear—no, not hear; I could feel it!”

  She looked at Gurgi in amazement. “It’s not words at all. It’s like listening without your ears or hearing with your heart. I know it, but I can’t imagine how I do. And yet,” she added wonderingly, “that’s what Taliesin told me.”

  “Oh, great wisdom!” Gurgi cried. “Oh, clever listenings! Gurgi listens, too, but inside hears only rumblings and grumblings when his poor belly is empty! Oh, sorrow! Gurgi will never hear deep secret things like Princess.”

  Eilonwy had dropped to her knees beside Brynach. Hurriedly she spoke of Taran, of all the companions and what had befallen them. Brynach pricked up his ears and barked sharply. The huge wolf rose from his haunches, shook the snow from his shaggy coat, and with his teeth gently plucked at Eilonwy’s sleeve.

  “He says we’re to follow them,” Eilonwy told Gurgi. “Come, we’re in safe hands now. Or, should I say paws?”

  The wolves padded silently and swiftly, following hidden trails and passages whose existence the girl would have never guessed. The two companions strove to keep up with Brynach’s rapid pace; yet often, despite themselves, they were forced to halt and rest. At those times the wolves seemed satisfied to wait patiently until the companions were ready to journey once again. Brynach crouched at Eilonwy’s side, his gray head between his paws, seldom drowsing, his ears alert and moving at every faint sound. Briavael, too, served as sentinel and guide, springing lightly to the rocky peaks, sniffing the air; then, with a gesture of her head, beckoning the companions to follow.

  Of the rest of the pack Eilonwy saw little. Now and then, however, she would awaken from a brief slumber to find the wolves sitting in a protective circle about her. Soon the lean gray animals would vanish into the shadows while Brynach and Briavael alone remained. The girl shortly became aware the wolves were not the only creatures in the Hills of Bran-Galedd. Once she glimpsed a large company of bears lumbering in single file along a ridge. They halted a moment, peered curiously, then resumed their march. In the cold, clear air she heard the barking of foxes in the distance and other sounds which might have been echoes or answers to some unknown signal.

  “They’re scouting all through the hills,” Eilonwy whispered to Gurgi, pointing to a bare summit where a tall stag had suddenly appeared. “I wonder how many other bands of outlaws are roaming around. If the bears and wolves have anything to say about it, I somehow don’t think there’s very many.”

  The wolf Brynach glanced at her, as though he had overheard Eilonwy’s words. He lolled out his tongue and blinked his yellow eyes. Around the sharp rows of gleaming teeth his lips turned slightly in an unmistakable smile.

  They continued on their path. At nightfall Eilonwy lit her bauble and held it aloft. The full wolf pack, she saw, had joined them once again, moving in long files on either side of her, just beyond the circle of golden light. The bears, too, were following, and other forest creatures whose presence she sensed rather than saw.

  There were, in the Hills of Bran-Galedd, many places of danger and death. Of these, the Princess of Llyr was unaware, for she and Gurgi passed them by unharmed, safe amid the watchful band of silent guardians.

  Late in the morning of the next day Briavael, who had spent most of her time scouting the passages ahead, grew excited and eager. The she-wolf barked and leaped atop high-standing rocks where she faced westward, wagging her tail briskly and urging the companions to greater speed.

  “I think they’ve found Taran!” Eilonwy cried. “I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but it sounds very much as if they have. Men and horses! A mountain cat—that must be Llyan! But what are they all doing in this direction? Are they going to the Red Fallows again?”

  Neither Eilonwy nor Gurgi could check their impatience to join the companions once more; they refused to halt for food or rest and Brynach frequently had to fasten his teeth in Eilonwy’s cloak to keep the girl from taking needless risks among the ever-steepening hills. Soon the travelers reached the rim of a deep mountain cup, and a cry of joy burst from Eilonwy’s lips.

  “I see them! I see them!” She hastily pointed downward, into the wide valley. Gurgi had run up beside her and began to leap with excitement.

  “Oh, it is kindly master!” he shouted. “Oh, yes, and brave bard! No bigger than ants, but sharp-eyed Gurgi sees them!”

  Only by straining her eyes could Eilonwy distinguish the tiny figures, so distant were they. The long descent into the valley, she knew, would take the rest of the day, and she was anxious to reach the companions before nightfall. She was about to scramble down the cliff when she stopped suddenly.

  “What can they be doing?” she cried. “They’re going straight into that wall of rock. Is it a cave? Look, there’s the last horseman. Now I can’t see any of them. If it’s a cave, it must be the biggest one in Prydain! I don’t understand a bit of it. Is there a passage of some kind? Or a tunnel? Oh, that’s vexing! You might know an Assistant Pig-Keeper would take it into his head to vanish the moment he’s been found!”

  Hurriedly, Eilonwy began picking her way down the steep slope. For all her haste the descent seemed endless. Even with the help of Brynach and Briavael the two had gone little more than half the distance by the time the sun had dropped westward and the shadows had begun to lengthen. Brynach suddenly halted and growled deeply in his throat. His hackles rose and he bared his teeth. The eyes of the wolf were fixed on the valley, and his muzzle twitched uneasily. In another moment, Eilonwy saw what had made Brynach stop. A long column of warriors had appeared and was moving rapidly westward.

  Briavael whined shrilly. From the voice of the she-wolf, Eilonwy sensed fear and hatred. She understood the reason.

  “Huntsmen!” the girl cried. “It looks like hundreds of them on the way back to Annuvin. Oh, I hope they don’t see Taran’s tracks, though he’s very likely safe enough where he is.”

  No sooner had she said this than a movement at the distant wall of rock made her clap a hand to her mouth. From the deepening shadows she saw, one by one, the tiny figures of Taran and his band reappear.

  “No!” Eilonwy gasped. “They’re coming out again!”

  From her vantage point, the girl could span the valley, and it was suddenly, coldly clear to her that the Commot warriors and the Huntsmen, as yet unseen by one another, were moving closer together.

  “They’ll be trapped!” Eilonwy cried. “Taran! Taran!”

  The echoes died in the vast, snowy expanse. Taran could neither see nor hear her. Darkness had now fallen over the valley, blinding the girl to the inevitable clash of the warrior bands. It was a nightmare in which all action was useless, in which she could only wait for the slaughter bound to come. She felt as though her hands were tied and her voice stifled.

  Still calling Taran’s name, Eilonwy snatched the bauble from her cloak. She lifted the sphere high. Brighter and brighter it glowed. The wolves turned away fearfully and Gurgi threw his arms over his face. The beams spread and rose toward the clouds, as though the sun itself were bursting from the mountainside. The dark cliffs and black branches of the trees were drenched in light, brilliant and clear. The whole valley had turned bright as noon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The River of Ice

  Under the sudden outpouring of golden light, the Huntsmen shouted in alarm and a wave of fear rippled along the marching column as they faltered and fell back into the protection of a deep gorge. Instantly Taran realized how closely he had come to leading the Commot horsemen into a fatal trap, but a cry of joy sprang from his lips. “Eilonwy!”

  He would have urged Melynlas across the valley
to the mountainside had not Fflewddur put out a restraining hand.

  “Hold, hold,” cried the bard. “She’s found us, right enough. Great Belin, there’s no mistaking the light from that girl’s bauble! She’s saved our lives with it. Gurgi’s sure to be with her, too; but if you go galloping after them, none of you will get back. We’ve seen the Huntsmen, and they could hardly help seeing us.”

  Doli had clambered atop a boulder and stood peering after the retreating Huntsmen. Eilonwy’s signal winked out as quickly as it had appeared, and in another moment the winter darkness fell once more over the valley.

  “A fine plight!” growled the dwarf. “Of all times to be caught above ground! The mine is useless to us, and there’s no other passage within a week’s march. Even if there were, we couldn’t reach it with an army of Huntsmen blocking the way.”

  Fflewddur had drawn his sword. “I say attack! Those foul villains had a good scare. They’ll have no stomach for a fight now. We’ll set upon them without warning. Great Belin, that’s something they won’t expect!”

  Doli snorted at him. “You’ve left your wits in the mineshaft! Set upon the Huntsmen? Slay one and make the others that much stronger? Even Fair Folk would think twice about attacking those ruffians. No, my friend, it won’t answer.”

  “When I was a giant,” put in Glew, “it would have been a simple matter for me to put them all to flight. However, through no fault of my own, times have changed, and I can hardly say they’ve changed for the better. On Mona, for example, one day I had decided something really had to be done about those impudent bats. It’s an interesting tale …”