Lloyd Alexander - The High King

"King Rhydderch bore the blade throughout his life," Gwydion continued, "and his sons after him. Their reigns were peaceful and prosperous. But here Dyrnwyn's history ends. King Rhitta, grandson of Rhydderch, was the last to hold the blade. He was lord of Spiral Castle before it became the stronghold of Queen Achren. He met his death, in a way unknown, with Dyrnwyn clutched in his hands. From that time on the sword was seen no more, forgotten as it lay buried with him in Spiral Castle's deepest chamber." Gwydion turned to Eilonwy. "Where you, Princess, found it. You gave it to me willingly; but it was not willingly that it left my hands. The blade is worth more than my life, or the lives of any of us. In Arawn's grasp, it can bring doom upon Prydain."

"Do you believe Arawn can unsheathe the sword?" Taran asked hurriedly."Can he turn the weapon against us? Can he make it serve some evil end?"

"This I do not know," replied Gwydion. The warrior's face was troubled. "It may be that Arawn Death-Lord has found means to break the enchantment. Or, unable to use it himself, his purpose may be to keep the blade from any other use. He would have taken my life as well as the sword. Thanks to Fflewddur Fflam, I still have the one. Now I must find the other, though the path lead me to the depths of Annuvin itself."

Achren, silent until now, raised her head and spoke to Gwydion. "Let me seek Dyrnwyn in your stead. I know the ways of Annuvin; no stranger am I to its secret hoards, and where and how they are guarded. If the sword is hidden, I will find it. If Arawn himself bears it, Dyrnwyn will be taken from him. More than that. I swear by every oath to destroy him. Thus have I sworn already to myself, and swear it again to you. You forced life upon me, Gwydion, when I begged for death. Now give me what I live for. Give me my vengeance."

Gwydion did not answer immediately. His green-flecked eyes searched the woman's face. He said, "Vengeance is not a gift I may bestow, Achren."

Achren stiffened. Her hands twisted into claws and Taran feared she would fling herself upon Gwydion. She did not move. "You will not trust me," Achren said hoarsely. Her bloodless lips turned in a smile of contempt. "So be it, Prince of Don. Once you scorned to share a kingdom with me. Scorn me again to your own loss."

"I do not scorn you," Gwydion said. "I only urge you to accept Dallben's protection. Stay here in safety. Among all of us, your hope of finding the sword is the least. Arawn's hatred of you can be no less than yours of him. He or his servants would slay you at sight, even before you set foot in Annuvin. No, Achren, what you offer is not possible." He thought a moment. "There may be another way to learn how Dyrnwyn shall be found."

Gwydion turned to Dallben, but the enchanter sorrowfully shook his head.

"Alas," Dallben said, " The Book of Three cannot tell us what we most need to know. I have searched carefully, every page, to understand its hidden meanings. They are dark, even to me. Fetch the letter sticks," the enchanter said to Coll. "Hen Wen alone can help us."

FROM HER ENCLOSUREthe white pig watched the silent procession. On his bony shoulders Dallben bore the letter sticks, the ash-wood rods carved with ancient symbols. Glew, interested only in the provisions of the scullery, remained behind, as did Gurgi, who well remembered the former giant and chose to keep an eye on him. Achren had spoken no further, but hooded her face and sat motionless in the cottage.

Usually, at the sight of Taran, the oracular pig would squeal joyously and trot to the railing to have, her chin scratched. Now she cowered in a far corner of the pen, her little eyes wide and her cheeks trembling. As Dallben entered the enclosure and planted the letter sticks upright in the earth, Hen Wen snuffled and crouched closer against the bars.

Dallben, murmuring inaudibly, moved to stand beside the ash-wood rods. Outside the enclosure, the companions waited. Hen Wen whimpered and did not stir.

"What does she fear?" Eilonwy whispered. Taran made no answer; his eyes were fixed on the aged enchanter in his wind-whipped robe, on the letter sticks, and the unmoving form of Hen Wen. Against the dull sky they seemed to him frozen together in their own moment, far beyond the silent watchers. This was the first time Taran had seen the enchanter seek a prophecy from the oracular pig. Of Dallben's powers he could only guess; but he knew Hen Wen, and knew she was too terrified to move. He waited what felt an age. Even Rhun sensed something amiss; the King of Mona's cheerful face was darkly clouded.

Dallben glanced uneasily at Gwydion. "Never before has Hen Wen refused to answer when the letter sticks were shown her."

Again he murmured words Taran could not distinguish. The oracular pig shuddered violently, shut her eyes, and sank her head between her stubby trotters.

"Perhaps a few notes on my harp?" Fflewddur suggested. "I've had excellent success…"

The enchanter motioned the bard to be silent. Once more he spoke, softly yet commandingly. Hen Wen shrank into herself and moaned as though in pain.

"Her fear blinds her powers," Dallben said gravely. "Even my spells do not reach her. I have failed."

Despair filled the faces of the watching companions.

Gwydion bowed his head; and his eyes were deeply troubled. "We, too, shall fail," he said, "if we do not learn whatever she can tell us."

Quickly and without a word Taran climbed the railing, walked steadily toward the frightened pig, and dropped to his knees beside her. He scratched her chin and gently stroked her neck. "Don't be afraid, Hen. Nothing will harm you here."

Dallben, surprised, started forward, then halted. Hearing Taran's voice, the pig had cautiously opened one eye.

Her snout twitched, she raised her head slightly and gave a faint "Hwoinch!"

"Hen, listen to me," Taran pleaded, "I have no power to command you. But we need your help, all of us who love you."

Taran spoke on; as he did, the oracular pig ceased her trembling. Though she did not attempt to rise, Hen Wen grunted fondly, wheezed, and made affectionate muttering sounds in her throat. She blinked her eyes and her wide face seemed nearly to grin.

"Tell us, Hen," Taran urged. "Please. Tell us what you can."

Hen Wen moved uneasily. Slowly she climbed to her feet. The white pig snorted and glanced at the letter sticks. Step by step, on her short legs, she moved closer to them.

The enchanter nodded to Taran. "Well done," he murmured. "This day, the power of an Assistant Pig-Keeper is greater than my own."

As Taran stared, not daring to speak, Hen Wen paused at the first rod. Still hesitant, she pointed with her snout at one of the carved symbols, then at another. Dallben, watching intently, quickly wrote on a scrap of parchment the signs the oracular pig had indicated. Hen Wen continued a few moments, then suddenly left off and backed anxiously from the stick.

Dallben's face was grave. "Can this be so?" he murmured, his voice filled with alarm. "No…no. We must learn more than that." He glanced at Taran.

"Please, Hen," Taran whispered, coming to the side of the pig, who had begun to shudder again. "Help us."

Despite his words, Taran feared Hen Wen would turn away. She shook her head, squinted her eyes and grunted piteously. Nevertheless, at his pleading, she cautiously trotted to the second rod. There, in desperate haste, as if to make an end of it quickly, she pointed to other symbols.

The enchanter's hand trembled as he wrote. "Now the third one," he said urgently.

Hen Wen, stiff-legged, reared back and sank to her haunches. All of Taran's soothing words would not budge her for several moments. At last, however, she rose and more fearfully than ever trotted to the final ash-wood rod.