Lloyd Alexander - The High King

"I don't understand, either," Eilonwy answered. "All I know― and I don't even know it― is that, well, I can't explain. I― I see the castle all crooked-wise― no, not see . Taste? No…Well, no matter," she burst out, "I've come all over chills and creeps and I don't like it. You've had experience, I don't doubt. But my ancestors were enchantresses, every one. And so should I have been, if I hadn't chosen to be a young lady."

"Enchantments!" the bard muttered uncomfortably. "Stay away from them. Don't meddle. It's also been my experience they never turn out well."

"I say," put in Rhun, "if the Princess feels there's something amiss, I'll be glad to ride ahead and find out. I shall frankly rap on the gates and demand to know."

"Nonsense," replied Fflewddur. "I'm quite sure all is well." A harp string broke and twanged loudly. The bard cleared his throat. "No, I'm not sure at all. Oh, bother it! The girl has put an idea in my head and I can't shake it out. One way, everything looks all right; the other way, it looks all wrong.

"Just to ease your mind― ah, my mind, that is," Fflewddur told the Princess, "I shall be the one to find out. As a wandering bard I can go and come as I please. If anything's wrong, none will suspect me. If not, there's no harm done. Stay here. I'll be back directly. We shall laugh over this at King Smoit's table," he added, but without great assurance.

The bard dismounted, considering it wiser not to draw attention by riding Llyan. "And you try no mischief," he warned Glew. "I hate to let you out of my sight, but Llyan will keep an eye on you. Hers are sharper than mine. So are her teeth."

On foot, the bard made his way to the castle. After a time, Eilonwy saw the gates swing open and Fflewddur disappear within. Then all was silent.

BY NIGHTFALL THE GIRLhad grown seriously alarmed, for there had been no further sign from the bard. The companions had concealed themselves in a thicket, awaiting Fflewddur's return, but now Eilonwy rose and anxiously faced the castle. "It is all wrong!" she cried, taking an impatient stride forward

King Rhun drew her back. "Perhaps not," he said. "Why, he'd have come back immediately to warn us if there was. No doubt Smoit's giving him supper, or…" Rhun loosened his sword in its sheath. "I'll go and see."

"No, you shall not!" Eilonwy cried. "I should have gone in the first place. Oh, I should have known better than to let myself be put off by anyone."

Rhun, however, insisted. Eilonwy refused. The heated, although whispered, dispute that followed was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the bard himself. Breathless and gasping, he stumbled into the thicket.

"It's Magg! He has them all!" Fflewddur's voice was pale as his face in the moonlight. "Caught! Trapped!"

Eilonwy and Rhun listened aghast at what Fflewddur had learned. "The warriors themselves don't know who the prisoners are, only that there are four with Smoit locked up for treachery. Treachery indeed! They've been made to swallow some kind of tale! The game goes deeper than that. What it is, I couldn't discover. I think the guards had orders to lay hold of everybody entering the castle. Luckily, those orders didn't seem to apply to wandering bards. It's so usual for a bard to drift in and sing for his supper that the warriors never gave it a second thought, though a they did keep an eye on me and wouldn't let me near Smoit's Great Hall or the larder where they've put the prisoners. But I caught a glimpse of Magg. Oh, the sneering, smirking spider! If only I could have run him through then and there!

"The warriors kept me harping until I thought my fingers would drop off," he hurriedly concluded. "Otherwise, I should have been back long ago. I didn't dare stop, or they'd have smelled a rat. And there's a rat to be smelled!" he cried furiously.

"How shall we rescue them?" Eilonwy demanded. "I don't care why they're locked up. Ask later. First get them out."

"We can't," Fflewddur answered in despair. "Impossible. Not with only four of us. And that's four counting Glew, who can't be counted at all."

Glew snorted. Usually the little man took no interest in anything not bearing directly on himself; now, his face was agitated. "When I was a giant I could have torn the walls down."

"Bother when you were a giant," snapped Fflewddur. "You're not one now. Our only hope is to go farther into the cantrev, tell one of the cantrev lords what's happened, and have him rally an attack force."

"It will take too long," cried Eilonwy. "Oh, do be quiet and let me think!"

The girl strode again to the clearing, and turned her eyes defiantly toward the castle which flung its own dark defiance against her. Her mind raced, but with no clear plan. With half a sob and half a cry of anger she was about to turn away. A movement against a nearby tree caught her glance. She halted a moment. Not daring to turn her head, from a corner of her eye she grew aware of a strange, humped shadow, motionless now. As if to continue on her path she walked seemingly in the direction of Fflewddur and Rhun, but edged little by little toward the tree.

Suddenly, quick as Llyan, she leaped upon the humped figure. Part of it went rolling in one direction, and the rest of it set up a muffled shrieking: Eilonwy pummeled, kicked, and scratched. Fflewddur and King Rhun were at her side in an instant. The bard seized one end of the flailing shape, King Rhun the other.

Eilonwy drew back and quickly took the bauble from her cloak. As she cupped it in her hand the sphere began to glow. She held it closer to the struggling form. Her jaw dropped. The golden beams shone on a pale, wrinkled face with a long, drooping nose and mournful mouth. Wild wisps of cobweb-like hair floated above a pair of eyes that blinked wretchedly and tearfully.

"Gwystyl!" Eilonwy cried. "Gwystyl of the Fair Folk!"

The bard loosened his grasp. Gwystyl sat up, rubbed his skinny arms, then climbed to his feet and pulled his cloak defensively about him.

"How nice to see you again," he mumbled. "A pleasure, believe me. I've thought of you often. Goodbye. Now I really must be on my way."

"Help us!" Eilonwy pleaded. "Gwystyl, we beg you. Our companions are prisoned in Smoit's castle."

Gwystyl clapped his hands to his head. His face puckered miserably. "Please, please," he moaned, "don't shout. I'm not well, I'm not up to being shouted at this evening. And would you mind not shining that light in my eyes? No, no, it's really too much. It's more than enough to be pulled down and sat on, without people picking at you and bellowing and half-blinding you. As I was saying― yes, it's been delightful running into you. Of course I'll be glad to help. But perhaps another time. When we're not feeling so upset."

"Gwystyl, don't you understand?" Eilonwy cried. "Have you been listening to me at all? Another time? You must help us now . Gwydion's sword is stolen. Dyrnwyn is gone! Arawn has it! Don't you see what that means? This is the most terrible thing that could ever happen. How can Gwydion get the sword back if he's locked up, with his own life in danger? And Taran― and Coll and Gurgi…"

"Some days are like that," Gwystyl sighed. "And what's to be done about it? Nothing, alas, but hope things will brighten, which they very likely won't. But, there you are, it's all one can do. Yes, I know Dyrnwyn is stolen. A sad misfortune, a disheartening state of affairs."

"You already know?" exclaimed the bard. "Great Belin, speak up! Where is it?"

"No idea whatever," Gwystyl gasped in such desperation that Eilonwy believed the melancholy creature indeed spoke the truth. "But that's the least of my concerns. What's happening around Annuvin―" He shuddered and patted his pale forehead with a trembling hand. "The Huntsmen are gathering. The Cauldron-Born have come -out, whole troops of them. I've never seen so many Cauldron-Born altogether in my life. It's enough to make a decent person take to his bed.