Lloyd Alexander - The High King

Nevertheless, mumbling and moaning, he quickly hoisted himself into the air, hanging an instant before his feet found the stones of the wall. Pulling himself up on the line and scrabbling with his feet against the sheer side of the castle, Gwystyl was soon out of sight.

"Amazing!" cried Rhun.

The bard frantically cautioned him to silence.

A moment later the fishing line was hauled up and the end of one of the heavier ropes came swinging down. The bard lifted Glew, who was protesting as loudly as he dared, and boosted him onto the dangling cord.

"Up you go," Fflewddur muttered. "I'll be right behind you."

Rhun followed, as the bard and the former giant disappeared into the shadows. Eilonwy seized the rope and felt herself rapidly drawn aloft. She swung herself over the parapet and dropped to a projecting ledge. Gwystyl had already scuttled toward the rear of the castle. Fflewddur and Glew slid into the darkness below. King Rhun grinned at Eilonwy and crouched against the cold stones.

The moon was down; the sky had turned black. Amid the shadows of the silent buildings, the stables, and the long dark mass which Eilonwy guessed to be Smoit's Great Hall, the low flames of a watch fire gleamed. Farther along the parapet, in the direction of the gates, the figures of the guards stood motionless, drowsing.

"I say, it's dark enough!" Rhun whispered cheerfully. "We shan't need Gwystyl's powder, at this rate. I can hardly see as it is."

Eilonwy turned her eyes in the direction Gwystyl had taken, waiting from one endless moment to the next for the signal. Rhun was tensed, ready to fling himself down the rope.

A shout rang from the courtyard. At the same instant, a cloud of crimson flame burst in the shadows of the Great Hall.

Eilonwy jumped to her feet. "Something's amiss!" she cried. "Fflewddur attacks too soon!"

It was only then that she saw a burst of fire at the far end of the castle. More shouts of alarm rose above the clatter of racing footsteps. But the warriors, Eilonwy saw with sinking heart, ran not to Gwystyl's false attack but to the Great Hall. The courtyard seethed with shadows. Torches sprang to light.

"Quickly!" Eilonwy shouted. "The gates!"

Rhun swung from the ledge. Eilonwy was about to follow him when she glimpsed a bowman at one of the guard posts on the wall. He raced toward her, then halted to take aim.

Hastily, Eilonwy drew a mushroom from her cloak and flung it at the warrior. It fell short and split against the stones; fire spurted, blinding her. The flames leaped in a roaring, searing cloud. The bowman shouted in terror and staggered back. His arrow whistled past her head.

The girl seized the rope and dropped into the courtyard below.

IN THE LARDER WHICHhad become a prison, Gurgi was first to hear the shouts of alarm. Though muffled by the heavy walls, the cries brought him to his feet before the other companions were aware of the tumult beyond their cell. All night, fearing the arrival of Magg from one moment to the next, they had vainly sought escape. Exhausted from their efforts, they dozed fitfully by turns; hoping only to sell their lives dearly when the guards at last came for them.

"Fightings and smitings!" Gurgi cried. "Is it for weary tired captives? Yes, yes, it must be! Yes, we are here!" He ran to the door and began shouting through the iron grating.

Now Taran heard what seemed to be a clash of swords. Coll and King Smoit were quickly beside him. Gwydion had already reached the door in two strides and drew away the excited Gurgi.

"Beware," Gwydion sharply warned. "Fflewddur Fflam may have found a way to free us, but if the castle is aroused, Magg may take our lives before our comrades can save us."

Footsteps rang outside, the lock of the heavy door began to rattle, and the companions fell back, crouched and ready to set upon their captors. The door was flung open. Into the cell burst Eilonwy.

"Follow me!" she cried. In one upraised hand she held the brightly glowing bauble; and with the other, pulled a sack from her belt. "Take these. The mushrooms are fire, the eggs are smoke. Throw them at anyone who attacks you. And this powder― it will blind them.

"I couldn't find weapons," she hurried on. "I've set Smoit's warriors free, but Fflewddur's trapped in the courtyard. Everything's gone wrong. Our plan has failed!"

Smoit, bellowing in rage, dashed to the door. "Away with your toadstools and rooster eggs!" he roared. "My hands are all I need to wring a traitor's neck!"

Gwydion sprang through the doorway. With Coll and Gurgi behind him, Taran sped after Eilonwy. From the corridors of the Great Hall, Taran raced into what was neither daylight nor darkness. Huge billows of dense, white smoke rose in the courtyard, blotting out the dawn sky. Like swaying, twisting waves, they shifted as the wind caught them, lifted a moment to show a struggling knot of warriors, then flooded back in an impenetrable tide. Here and there roaring columns of fire writhed through the smoke.

Losing sight of Eilonwy, Taran plunged into the swirling clouds. A warrior brought up his sword and slashed at him. Taran stumbled to escape the blow. With outflung hand he cast his small store of powder in the man's face. The warrior fell back as if stunned; his wide-open eyes stared blankly at nothing. Taran snatched the blade from the baffled guard and raced on.

"A Smoit! A Smoit!" The red-bearded King's war cry rang from the stables. Before smoke filled his eyes again, Taran caught a fleeting glimpse of the furious Smoit, armed with a huge scythe and laying about him like a bear turned harvester.

The luckless Gurgi, however, had stumbled with his eggs still clutched in his hands. Smoke poured over him. For an instant all Taran could see of him was a pair of waving, hairy arms before these, too, vanished in the billows. Yelling at the top of his voice, Gurgi spun about and dashed frantically wherever his feet led him. Warriors shouted and fled from this fearsome whirlwind.

King Smoit, Taran realized, was trying to rally his own men around him, and Taran attempted to fight his way toward the stables. Coll, briefly, was at his side. The stout warrior had just gained a blade from a fallen opponent. Flinging aside the hoe which, until then, had served him as a weapon, Coll threw his bulk against the press of swordsmen besetting Fflewddur Fftam. Taran leaped into the fray, striking left and right with telling blows.

Magg's warriors fell back. The bard joined Taran as they raced across the court.

"Where is Rhun?" Taran cried.

"I don't know!" Fflewddur gasped. "He and Eilonwy were to open the gates for us. But, Great Belin, what's happened since then I can't guess. Everything has changed. One of Magg's men trod on Glew, and we were discovered before we could go another step. From then on the fat was in the fire. Where Glew is now I have no idea― though the little weasel gave a fair account of himself, I must say. So did Gwystyl."

"Gwystyl?" Taran stammered. "How…"

"Never mind," replied Fflewddur. "We'll tell you later. If there is a later."

They had nearly reached the stables. Taran caught sight of Gwydion. The Prince of Don's wolf­-gray head towered above the milling warriors. But Taran's relief at Gwydion's safety turned to despair. He saw, through the shifting clouds, the tide of battle was turning against the companions. Only a handful of Smoit's men had been able to rally for an attack; the others were cut off, locked in combat throughout the courtyard.

"To the gates!" Gwydion commanded. "Fly, all who can!"

With sinking heart Taran realized the little band was grievously outnumbered. Dimly, Taran saw the gates had been opened. But more of Magg's warriors had joined their fellows and the way to safety was blocked.