Lloyd Alexander - The Castle of Llyr

Gurgi's heart-rending wail filled the Great Hall. "Yes, yes, you know us! Oh, yes! Do not speak hurtful words to sad companions. You cannot forget! This is Gurgi! Humble, faithful Gurgi! He waits to serve wise Princess as he always did!"

Taran turned his face away. The grief of the wretched creature pained him even more than his own. Achren, watching Eilonwy carefully, nodded with satisfaction.

"And their fate?" Achren said to her. "What shall be the fate of those who seek to despoil the inheritance of a Princess?"

Eilonwy frowned. Her eyes strayed over the companions. As though perplexed and reluctant, she turned to Achren. "They― they shall be punished."

"She speaks with your voice," Taran shouted in anger. "With your words! In her heart she does not wish us ill."

"Think you so?" replied Achren, taking Eil­onwy's arm and pointing to Magg, prostrate on the flagstones and firmly in the grasp of the bard. "Prin­cess, one of your loyal servants is still captive of these intruders. Cause him to be released."

Fflewddur, sitting astride Magg's shoulders, took a tighter grip on the scruff of the Chief Steward's neck. Magg spat and cursed while the bard shook him furiously. "Your trained spider is my prisoner!" Fflewddur cried. "He and I have business together long unsettled. Do you want him back unsquashed? Then let the Princess Eilonwy come with us."

"I have no need to bargain," Achren answered. She made a curt gesture to Eilonwy. The girl's face, Taran saw, had taken on a harsh and severe expression; she lifted her arm, hand outstretched and fingers pointing.

"Which shall it be?" mused Achren. "The ill-favored creature who dared call himself your servant?"

Gurgi raised his head, puzzled and fearful, while Achren whispered words in a strange language to Eilonwy. The girl's fingers moved slightly. Guigi's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. For an instant he stood unmoving and open-mouthed, staring at the Princess. Her hand, pointing straight at the baffled Gurgi, suddenly tensed. With a sharp cry of pain, Gurgi stiffened and clutched his head.

Achren's eyes glittered with pleasure. Again she whispered urgently to Eilonwy. Gurgi shrieked. He spun frantically, his arms flailing as though to ward off unseen tormentors. Screaming, he flung himself to the ground, doubled up, and rolled back and forth. Taran and Gwydion raced to his side; but the tortured creature, like a wounded animal, struck at them and thrashed blindly in agony.

Fflewddur leaped to his feet. "No more!" he shouted. "Harm Gurgi no longer! You shall have Magg. Take him!"

At Achren's command, Eilonwy dropped her hand to her side. Gurgi lay gasping on the stones. His body shook with sobbing. He raised his shaggy, disheveled head, and Taran saw his face streaming with tears that, came not only from the suffering he had just undergone. Painfully, the exhausted creature drew himself up to crouch on hands and knees.

Gurgi crept forward a little way. His weeping eyes turned to Eilonwy. "Wise Princess," he mur­mured, "it is no wish of hers to fill poor tender head with harmful hurtings. Gurgi knows this. He forgives her."

Magg, meantime finding himself free of the bard's grasp, lost no time in scrambling to his feet and scuttling to the side of Achren. His encounter with Fflewddur had left the Chief Steward much the worse for wear. His handsome garments showed rips and rents, his lank hair fell damply over his forehead, his chain of office was bent and battered. Nevertheless, once near Achren, Magg folded his arms and haughtily threw back his head; rage and hatred filled his eyes, and Taran was certain that had Achren given him the power Magg's glance alone would have sufficed to send Fflewddur rolling in torments sharper than Gurgi's.

"You shall pay dearly for this, harper," Magg spat. "I rejoice that I did not have you thrashed and driven away when fast I laid eyes on youh for now it allows me to hang you in your own harp strings, from the highest tower of Rhuddlum's castle. And so shall I do, once I am Lord of Dinas Rhydnant."

"Lord of Dinas Rhydnant!" Fflewddur ex­claimed. "A steward's chain is too much honor for you."

"Tremble, harper!" sneered Magg. "Dinas Rhydnant is mine. It has been promised me. And all the realm. King Magg! Magg the Magnificent!"

"King Magg the Maggot!" the bard flung back at him. "Does Achren promise you a kingdom? A scullery would be more than you deserve!"

"Achren's promises are false," cried Taran. "Learn this to your grief, Magg!"

The black-robed Queen smiled. "Achren knows how to reward those who serve her, as she knows how to punish those who defy her. Magg's kingdom shall stand among the mightiest in the land. And Caer Colur shall rise more glorious than ever. Its Great Hall shall be the seat of power over all Prydain. The Lord of Annuvin himself shall kneel in homage to me." Achren's voice fell nearly to a whis­per; a cold fire burned over her pale features. Her eyes were no longer on the companions, but far beyond them. "Arawn of Annuvin shall cower and beg for mercy. But his throne shall be toppled. It was I, Achren, who showed him the secret ways to power. He betrayed me and how he shall suffer my vengeance. It was I who ruled Prydain before him and none dared question my dominion. Thus shall it be once more. Thus shall it be evermore."

"The lore tells of your ancient rule," Gwydion said sharply, "and how you sought to keep hearts and minds in thrall to you. You tormented those who would not worship you; and for those who bowed to you, life was little better than a slow death. I know, too, of the blood sacrifices you demanded and your joy at the cries of your victims. No, Achren, it shall not come again. Think you this girl shall lead you to it?"

"She will obey me," Achren replied, "as surely as if I held her beating heart in my hand."

Gwydion's eyes flashed. "Your words are vain, Achren. They cannot deceive me. Do you seek to rule through the Princess Eilonwy? The enchantments she commands still sleep. You have not the means to waken them."

Achren's face turned livid and she drew back as though she had been struck. "You speak beyond your knowledge."'

"Oh, no, he doesn't!" burst out Rhun, who had been listening in amazement. The Prince of Mona tri­umphantly faced Achren. "The book! The golden light! We've got them and we shall never give them up!"

PRINCE RHUN! BE SILENT!" Taran's warning came too late. Rhun himself realized his blunder and clapped a hand to his mouth; his round face filled with dismay and he glanced about him in confusion. Gwydion stood silently, his weathered features tight and pale; yet the glance he cast on the unhappy Prince of Mona was not of reproach but of sorrow. Prince Rhun's shoulders drooped; he bowed his head and turned wretchedly away.

Before Rhun's outburst, while Gwydion had been speaking, Taran had sensed a shadow of fear over Achren. It had passed now and her lips parted in a subtle smile.

"Do you think I wish to hide the truth from you, Lord Gwydion?" she said. "I knew the book of spells had vanished from Caer Colur and I have long sought it. The Golden Pelydryn was cast away or lost by the Princess herself. Indeed, to fulfil my plan only these objects are lacking. Accept my thanks, Lord Gwydion," Achren went on. "You spare me the labor of a tedious search. Spare yourself much pain by putting them in my hands. Now!" she commanded harshly. "Give them to me."

Gwydion's voice was firm and his words came slowly and carefully. "It is as the Prince of Mona says. We have found the book of spells and the light that reveals them. But it is also as he says; you shall never have them."

"Shall I not?" replied Achren. "It is as simple as reaching out."