Lloyd Alexander - The High King

Suddenly a mounted figure galloped into the courtyard. It was Rhun, astride his dapple gray. The King of Mona's boyish face shone with a furious light. As the steed reared and plunged, Rhun swung his sword about his head and shouted at the top of his voice:

"Bowmen! Follow me! All of you, into the court!" He spun the mare about and beckoned with his sword. His words rang above the clash of arms. "Spearmen! This way! Make haste!"

"He's brought help!" Taran cried.

"Help?" echoed the amazed bard. 'There's no one within miles!"

Rhun had not ceased to gallop back and forth amid the struggling warriors, shouting orders as if a whole army streamed behind him.

Magg's men turned to face the unseen foe.

"A ruse!" exclaimed Fflewddur. "He's a madman! It will never work!"

"But it does!" At a glance Taran saw their as­sailants had broken away, seeking, in confusion, to engage what they imagined to be fresh attackers. Taran brought his horn to his lips and sounded the charge. Magg's men faltered, believing the foe was now at their backs.

At that instant Llyan burst through the gates. The men who saw her shouted in terror as the huge cat leaped forward. Llyan paid no heed to the warriors, but raced across the court while the swordsmen dropped their weapons and fled at her approach.

"She's looking for me!" Fflewddur cried. "Here I am, old girl!"

King Smoit's embattled fighting men seized this moment to press forward with a mighty surge. Many of Magg's warriors had already flown; fear-driven, they slashed and stabbed among themselves in blind panic. Rhun galloped on and vanished into the smoke.

"He's duped them well!" Fflewddur shouted jubilantly. "For all the good those eggs and mushrooms did us― it was Rhun who turned the trick!"

The bard hastened to Llyan. Gwydion, Taran saw, was now on horseback. Golden-maned Melyngar streaked across the courtyard, as Gwydion urged the mare to overtake the retreating foe. Smoit and Coll had also leaped astride their steeds. Behind them galloped Gwystyl. Smoit's warriors, too, joined the pur­suit. Taran ran to find Melynlas, but before he reached the stables, he heard Eilonwy call his name. He turned. The girl, her face smudged, her robe torn, beckoned urgently.

"Come!" she called. "Rhun is badly hurt!"

Taran raced to follow her. Near the far wall the dapple gray stood riderless. The King of Moxia was sitting on the ground, his legs stretched in front of him, his back resting against a cart still smouldering from Gwystyl's fiery mushrooms. Gurgi and Glew, both unharmed, were at his side.

"Hullo, hullo!" Rhun murmured and waved a hand. His face was deathly white.

"The day is ours," Taran said. "Without you, it would have gone differently. Don't move," he cautioned, loosening the young King's bloodstained jacket. Taran frowned anxiously. An arrow had suck deep in Rhun's side and the shaft had broken.

"Amazing!" Rhun whispered. "I've never been in battle before, and I wasn't sure of― of anything at all. But, I say, the oddest things kept running through my head. I was thinking of the seawall at Mona Haven. Isn't it surprising? Yes, your plan will work very well," Rhun murmured. His eyes wandered and suddenly he looked very young, very lost and a little frightened. "And I think― I think I shall be glad to be home." He made an effort to raise himself. Taran bent quickly to him.

Fflewddur had come up with Llyan loping at his heels. "So there you are, old boy," he called to Rhun. "I told you we'd have more than our share of trouble. But you pulled us out of it! Oh, the bards will sing of you…"

Taran lifted a grief-stricken face. "The King of Mona is dead."

SILENT AND HEAVY HEARTED, the companions raised a burial mound a little distance from Caer Cadarn. The warriors of Smoit joined them; and at dusk, horsemen bearing torches rode slowly circling the mound, to honor the King of Mona.

As the last flame died, Taran came to stand before the burial place. "Farewell, Rhun Son of Rhuddlum. Your seawall is unfinished," he said gently. "But I promise you your work shall not be left undone. Your fisher folk shall have their safe harbor if I must build it for you with my own hands."

Soon after nightfall Gwydion, Coll, and King Smoit returned. Magg had eluded them, and the fruitless pursuit had left them worn and haggard. They, too, mourned the death of Rhun, and did honor to all the fallen warriors. Gwydion then led the companions to the Great Hall.

"Arawn Death-Lord gives us little time for grief, and we shall mourn others, I fear, before our tasks are done," he said. "I must tell you now of a choice carefully to be weighed.

"Gwystyl of the Fair Folk has left us, and continues his journey to King Eiddileg's realm. Before we parted, he told me further of the gathering of Arawn's hosts. Magg's words were not evil boasting. Gwystyl judges, as do I, that Arawn means to defeat us in one last battle. His armies gather even now.

"There is grave risk, and perhaps fatal risk, in leaving Dyrnwyn in Arawn's grasp," Gwydion went on. "Yet we must face the more pressing danger. No longer will I seek the black sword. Whatever strength it may yield him, in my own strength I will stand against him to the death. I ride not to Annuvin but to Caer Dathyl to rally the Sons of Don."

No one spoke for some moments. At length Coll replied. "To my mind, you have chosen wisely, Prince of Don."

Smoit and Fflewddur Fflam nodded their agreement.

"Would that I were as sure of my wisdom," Gwydion replied heavily. "So be it then."

Taran rose and faced Gwydion. "Is there no way one of us can breach the Death-Lord's stronghold? Must the search for Dyrnwyn indeed be given up?"

"I read your thoughts, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Gwydion replied. "You will serve me best if you obey my commands. Gwystyl warns that a journey to Annuvin can mean only wasted life― and more than that: a loss of precious time. Gwystyl's nature is to conceal his nature, but among the Fair Folk none is shrewder or more trustworthy. I heed his warning, and so must all of you.

"Gwystyl has promised to do all in his power to gain help from the Fair Folk," Gwydion went on. "King Eiddileg has no great fondness for the race of men. Yet even he must see that Arawn's victory would blight all Prydain. The Fair Folk would suffer no less than we.

"But we dare not count too heavily on Eiddileg. Our own armies must be gathered, and our battle host raised. In this, our greatest help will come from King Pryderi of the West Domains. No lord in Prydain commands a mightier army. His allegiance to the House of Don is firm, and between us are strong bonds of friendship. I will send word to Pryderi, and pray him to join his host with ours at Caer Dathyl.

"There must we all meet," Gwydion continued. "Before then, I ask King Smoit to muster every loyal warrior in his cantrev and the dominions closest to his." He turned to the bard. "Fflewddur Fflam Son of Godo, you are a king in your own Northern Realms. Return there without delay. To you I entrust the rallying of the northern cantrevs.

"And you, Assistant Pig-Keeper," Gwydion said, seeing the question in Taran's eyes, "your own task is urgent. You are well known to the folk of the Free Commots. I charge you to raise whatever force you can among them. Lead all who will follow you to Caer Dathyl. Gurgi and Coll Son of Collfrewr will ride with you. So, too, will the Princess Eilonwy. Her safety is in your hands."

"I'm glad," Eilonwy murmured, "there's been no talk of sending me home."

"Gwystyl tells us many of Arawn's liegemen are already marching," Coll said to her. "The Valley Cantrevs are too dangerous, whatever. Otherwise, Princess," he added with a grin, "you would long since have been on your way to Caer Dallben."

WELL BEFORE DAWNGwydion and Fflewddur Fflam rode from Caer Cadarn, each to follow his separate path. King Smoit, girded for battle, set out from the castle, and with him went Lord Gast and Lord Goryon, who had learned belatedly of the attack on their king and now hastened to join him. Faced with the common danger, the two rivals had put aside their quarrel. Goryon declined to take insult at Gast's every word, Gast refrained from giving offense to Goryon, and neither so much as mentioned cows.