Lloyd Alexander - The Castle of Llyr

Her voice was sharp; her eyes had lost their warmth; and Taran saw the brief moment of recollec­tion had fled. He knew that Eilonwy, at all costs, must be taken from this dread place. His terror and dismay grew with the thought that perhaps even now she was beyond hope. He struggled to catch her by the waist and put her over his shoulder.

Eilonwy struck him full in the face with such force that he staggered back. Yet it was not the blow that pained him but her scornful glance. On her lips now was a smile of mockery and malice. He was a stranger to her and he feared his heart would break.

Once more he tried to seize her. Eilonwy, with a cry of rage, twisted away and broke free.

"Achren!" she called. "Achren! Help me!"

She ran to the portal of the chamber and into the corridor. Taran snatched up the rush light and raced after the fleeing Princess. Her sandals clattered down the shadowed hallway, and he glimpsed an edge of her robe vanishing around a corner. She had not ceased to call Achren's name. In another moment the castle would be roused and the companions discovered. Taran cursed himself for a blunderer. He had no choice now but to overtake the bewitched girl before every hope of escape faded. Already he heard a shout from the wall and the clash of blades.

The rush light scorched his hand and he cast it aside. In the darkness he sped to the end of the corridor and flung himself down a flight of steps. The Great Hall of Caer Colur stretched before him, the crimson haze of daybreak filling its ruined casements. Eilonwy fled across the wide stretch of worn and crumbling flagstones and vanished again. A hand gripped his jacket and spun him around. A torch flared in his eyes.

"The Pig-Keeper!" hissed Magg.

The Chief Steward plucked a dagger from a fold of his garments and thrust at Taran, who flung up an arm to ward off the blow. The dagger glanced aside. Magg cursed and swept the torch like a sword. Taran fell back, seeking to draw his own weapon. The shouts of the awakened guards filled the Great Hall. In another instant he caught sight of Gwydion, the companions at his heels.

Magg spun around. Fflewddur had broken away from the press of warriors and was racing at top speed toward the Chief Steward. The bard's spiky yellow hair streamed behind him and his face shone with furious triumph.

"The spider is mine!" cried Fflewddur, his blade whistling about his head. Magg, at the sight of the frenzied bard, yelled in terror and tried to flee. The bald was upon him in a moment, striking right and left with the flat of his sword in such a wild onslaught that most of his blows missed their mark. Magg, with the strength of desperation, sprang at the bard's throat and grappled with him.

Before Taran could come to Fflewddur's aid, a warrior with an axe beset him and, despite his stout defense, Taran found himself driven back toward a corner of the Hall. Amid, the confusion of the fray, he saw Gwydion and Rhun struggling against other warriors. The Prince of Mona laid about him furiously with his broken sword, and it was to one of Rhun's sharp blows that Taran's assailant fell.

Fflewddur and Magg were still locked in combat. As Taran raced to the side of the bard, the dark, shaggy form of Gurgi overtook him. With a yelp of rage, Gurgi leaped into the air and clung to Magg's shoulders. The Chief Steward still wore his silver chain of office; Gurgi snatched it and let himself swing free. Magg gasped and tumbled backward, choking and hissing while Gurgi dangled for an instant, then sprang clear of the falling Steward. In a flash the bard was upon the prostrate Magg. Heedless of the buffeting from Magg's flailing legs, Gurgi laid hold of him by the heels and hung on with all his strength, while Fflewddur, sitting on Magg's head, seemed indeed to be carrying out his threat of squashing the treacherous Chief Steward.

Gwydion, with Dyrnwyn unsheathed and blazing, had cut down two warriors who now sprawled motionless on the flagstones. Terrified at the sight of the flaming weapon, the remaining guards fled. With long strides Gwydion hastened to the companions.

"Eilonwy is bewitched!" Taran cried. "I have lost her."

Gwydion's eyes went to the end of the hall where scarlet draperies had been flung back from an alcove. Eilonwy stood there and beside her, Achren.

TARAN'S HEART FROZE, and within him echoed the nightmare memory of another day when he had stood in terror before Achren. As if he were still the same frightened lad he had been, he trembled once again at the sight of the black-robed Queen. Her hair, unbound, fell in glittering silver tresses to her shoulders; the beauty of her features had not changed, though her face was deathly pale. At Spiral Castle, long ago, she had been decked in jewels; now, neither rings nor bracelets adorned her slender hands and white arms. But her eyes, hard as jewels themselves, drew Taran's gaze and held it.

Gwydion had sprung forward. With a cry Taran followed him, sword upraised. Eilonwy shrank back and clung to Achren.

"Put down your weapons," Achren commanded. "The girl's life is bound to mine. Would you take my life? Then she must share my death."

Seeing the black sword, Achren had stiffened, but made no move to flee. Instead, her lips curled in the shadow of a smile. Gwydion halted and looked searchingly at her. Slowly, his face dark with anger, he returned Dyrnwyn to its sheath.

"Obey her," he murmured to Taran. "I fear Achren speaks the truth. Even in death she may be deadly."

"You show wisdom, Lord Gwydion," Achren said softly. "You have not forgotten me, nor have I forgotten you. I see, too, the Assistant Pig-Keeper and the foolish bard who should have been food for carrion crows long before this. The others, perhaps, know me not as well as you do, but soon they shall."

"Unloose the Princess Eilonwy from your spell," said Gwydion. "Return her to us and you shall depart unhindered."

"Lord Gwydion is generous," Achren replied with a mocking smile. "You offer me safety when your own peril is greatest. You were rash even to set foot on Caer Colur. And now the more hopeless your plight, the bolder your words." Her glance lingered on him. "Pity that one such as you scorned to be my consort and rule with me when the chance was given.

"Unloose the girl?" Achren went on. "No, Lord Gwydion. She will serve me as I planned. My spells are not the only ones to bind her. You know her ancestry and the blood of enchantresses that flows in her veins. Caer Colur itself has long awaited its Princess. It calls to her, and so it ever shall, while one stone stands upon the other. This is her birthright; I do no more than help her claim it."

"You force her to claim it!" Taran burst out. "Eilonwy did not come willingly to Caer Colur. She does not stay willingly." His desperation drowned his caution and he could not keep himself from starting toward Eilonwy, who watched him curiously. Gwydion's hand on his shoulder drew him back.

"Is she indeed unwilling?" Achren raised her arm and gestured to the alcove where stood an ancient chest tall as Eilonwy herself. "I have shown her what this contains," Achren said. "All the implements of magic treasured up for her. Power such as she has never known lies within her grasp. Do you ask her to cast it away? Let her give you her own answer."

At Achren's words Eilonwy raised her head. Her lips parted, but she did not speak. Hesitating, she toyed with the silver chain around her neck.

"Hear me, Princess," Achren said quickly in a low voice. "They would deprive you of your heritage, of the enchantments that are yours by blood-right."

"I am a Princess of Llyr," Eilonwy said coldly. "I want what is mine. Who are these who would take it from me? I see the one who frightened me in my chamber. A keeper of pigs, so he claimed. The rest I do not know."